


Troublemaker

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Series: The Troublemaker Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Bellamort, F/M, Part one of completed series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 18:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 78,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12463119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: Autumn 1968 - Bellatrix has come of age and pledged herself to the Dark Lord. With the help of a charmed journal, she'll be Voldemort's eyes and ears at Hogwarts during her last two years of school - if she can stay out of trouble long enough to be of any use. Slow burn, novel-length Bellamort. Part I of completed Troublemaker series (400k total). Re-post.*************************************************"And what shall I write, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. He shrugged a little and said lightly,"The everyday happenings of Hogwarts are mundane, I know. But as my power grows, so too do the ranks of my enemies. Albus Dumbledore. Horace Slughorn. Basically the entirety of Gryffindor Tower. I want you to keep an eye on things, on how people interact, and keep me apprised. You'll be my eyes and ears at the school. You're in your sixth year?""Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, hugging the journal close to her chest. Voldemort tipped his head and noted,"You're by far my youngest official servant, but I have confidence you'll serve me well. Won't you, Bella?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part I of the completed five-part Troublemaker series, which totals approximately 400,000 words. I pulled the series offline last year for reasons that are no longer necessary, so this is a repost. Please enjoy, and thank you for any and all feedback.

_The Doxy's Nest - Hogsmeade_

_October 1968_

"Miss Black. Do come in."

Bellatrix Black's heart thudded like a drum in her chest as she stepped into Room Eight. She had been instructed to be here at noon on the day when Hogwarts students were in Hogsmeade for their first visit of the term. She'd turned seventeen years old the month before, and the Dark Lord had promised her that she could take her vow of devotion to him as soon as she was of age.

Lord Voldemort flicked his hand toward the door, which shut and locked behind Bellatrix. He stood in the centre of the room, studying Bellatrix with his handsome dark eyes. He sniffed lightly and gestured for her to come closer. Bellatrix walked up to him and genuflected, bowing her head as she sank onto one knee. The Dark Lord surprised her by reaching for her chin and turning her face up to his. He stared down at her for a long moment, and Bellatrix felt an odd fluttering in her stomach.

" _Legilimens_ ," Voldemort whispered. There was a sudden, sharp ache in Bellatrix's head, and then thoughts and memories were flying through her brain. He was searching her consciousness, she knew. He pulled out thoughts she'd had, the ache and longing she possessed to serve him. He pulled out the way she'd stared at the ceiling in her dormitory in the middle of the night, dreaming of being his soldier. He yanked up a memory of a younger Bellatrix taunting a Gryffindor girl, a Mudblood, and getting four weeks' detention for using the term. And he seemed to read her mental pulse now, her nervousness and the way she adored him without even knowing him. He looked satisfied, nodding once, and he said quietly,

"Stand up, Bella."

She rose, a flush of excitement going through her. She still hadn't spoken, far too afraid to do so, but she had no choice when the Dark Lord asked,

"In what capacity do you wish to serve me?"

"In any capacity whatsoever that you see fit to use me, My Lord," Bellatrix said. He smiled crookedly and nodded again.

"Yes," he said, "you'll do nicely. You recently came of age. When?"

"The twenty-first of last month, My Lord," Bellatrix said. Voldemort flicked his eyes around the shabby room in The Doxy's Nest, a small and seedy inn on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He pulled a canvas rucksack from the dusty-looking bed, extracting two emerald green leather books. He handed one to Bellatrix and said,

"These two journals have a modified Protean Charm. You'll have one; I'll have the other. If you're to be my spy at Hogwarts, we shall need a method of communication far more secure than letters by owl. If there's a message for you from me, the cover of the book will turn black. Mine will turn black when you respond. Here. Take this, too."

He pulled out a jet black quill, which Bellatrix accepted and studied. It had a beautiful brass nib, and as Bellatrix examined it, Voldemort said,

"It's self-inking, and the ink is enchanted to work with the Protean Charm. The ink vanishes a moment after you write, and it appears in my book. You'll use this quill and journal to write to me regularly."

"And what shall I write, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. He shrugged a little and said lightly,

"The everyday happenings of Hogwarts are mundane, I know. But as my power grows, so too do the ranks of my enemies. Albus Dumbledore. Horace Slughorn. Basically the entirety of Gryffindor Tower. I want you to keep an eye on things, on how people interact, and keep me apprised. You'll be my eyes and ears at the school. You're in your sixth year?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, hugging the journal close to her chest. Voldemort tipped his head and noted,

"You're by far my youngest official servant, but I have confidence you'll serve me well. Won't you, Bella?"

She nodded vehemently. "Oh, yes, My Lord!" she exclaimed. "I want nothing more than to make you pleased with me. I want nothing more than to help you."

"I know," he said. Something strange came over his shining dark eyes then, and his lips curled up. "I can see that you'll give me many years of… exemplary service. Now. Extend your left arm."

Bellatrix did, feeling a nervous shock go up her spine when Voldemort pulled back the sleeve of her school robe. He pushed back her jumper and the white shirt beneath, making Bellatrix shiver from the brush of his fingers on her skin. He touched the tip of his pale wand to her flesh and dragged it around in a smooth pattern.

" _Morsmordre_ ," he said in a quiet, silky tone. Bellatrix gasped, for her skin had begun to sear as though a red-hot branding iron had been touched to her arm. A tattoo-like mark, a skull with a serpent swirling from its mouth, appeared in black on the inside of her forearm. Almost immediately, it faded to a very pale pink, almost indistinguishable from her skin, and the burning subsided. The Dark Lord studied her arm as he pulled his wand away, and he mused,

"You're mine now."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. She tucked her new journal and quill into her school bag and adjusted her sleeves back down.

"You need to get back to the village before your absence arouses suspicion," Lord Voldemort said primly. "Speaking of which… stay out of trouble in school, Bellatrix. I've heard you're something of a troublemaker."

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_October 1968_

"Morning, Bellatrix."

"Hello, Tarquin." She didn't bother turning round in Slughorn's Potions classroom. She took her silver knife and her scales from her rucksack and kept her eyes down as Tarquin Avery plunked his own bag beside her.

"Can I work next to you today?" he asked flirtatiously.

"I don't care," Bellatrix said honestly, running a polishing cloth over the blade of her knife. Tarquin Avery had flirted with Bellatrix for years, but she'd done her best to ignore him both over time. He wasn't very good at taking the hint. As Bellatrix sat in her chair and set down her Potions textbook, she could feel Tarquin's eyes running up and down her form, and she shuddered.

"Good morning. Good morning." Professor Slughorn stepped up to the front of the classroom, and the din of conversation among the sixth-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws died down. Slughorn flicked his wand at the chalkboard behind him, and the chalk levitated and wrote the words "Cosmetic Eye Gel" on the board. There was an audible, collective groan from the boys in the room, and Slughorn smiled knowingly as he said,

"I know, boys. I know. But hear me out! Making any potion with a gel consistency is easier said than done! Too thin, and it won't bind to skin or any other surface. Too thick, and it won't absorb. We shall begin our studies of gel-consistency potions with a simple night eye gel intended to firm the skin and prevent wrinkles. You will all be needing Gillyweed - no, slathering it on the skin will not give you gills, Mr Shacklebolt - and you will find the instructions on page seventy-six of your books. Please begin!"

"I'll go get the Gillyweed," Tarquin Avery said at once, and he dashed off before Bellatrix could stop him. She read through the instructions in her text and mumbled some thanks to Tarquin when he came back with supplies for them both. She ground up the arrowroot powder in her mortar and pestle and squeezed the slime off the Gillyweed, setting it to simmer together for the requisite five minutes.

"You wouldn't need this potion, Bellatrix," said Tarquin from beside her. Bellatrix gave him an odd look and said,

"I should certainly hope my eyes aren't already wrinkled. I just turned seventeen."

Tarquin gave her a meaningful look, his gaze studying her face and then very obviously settling on her breasts. Bellatrix pulled her outer robe more tightly around herself and said crossly,

"I don't much care for when you look at me like that, Tarquin. Stop it." She sat back down to wait for her potion to finish simmering.

Suddenly she yelped, for Tarquin had put his hand on Bellatrix's knee above her long gray socks. He started to trail his fingers up, under the hem of her skirt, and he said softly,

"Bella. You and I both come from pureblood families. I'm turning seventeen myself next month. Wouldn't it be -"

"You need to get your hand off my leg," Bellatrix growled through gritted teeth. "Immediately."

Tarquin sighed and rolled his eyes, but he was too slow in taking his hand off Bellatrix. She snatched her wand from the table and aimed it right at Tarquin's eyes.

" _Oculosanguis_ ," she said smoothly, and even when Tarquin screamed, she didn't move or change her expression. Suddenly blood was running down his cheeks, bubbling streams of scarlet pouring from his eyes. Bellatrix just stared as the rest of the students shrieked and gasped, as Professor Slughorn rushed to undo the Bloody Eye Hex and to urge Maximus Malfoy to take Tarquin Avery to the infirmary.

"Miss Black!" cried Slughorn, and at last Bellatrix paid real attention. She straightened her spine and said matter-of-factly,

"He had his hand on my leg, sir, and would not remove his hand when I asked him to do so."

Professor Slughorn stared at Bellatrix in utter disbelief, shaking his head as he shrugged. "Miss Black, you may not handle such a thing by casting a Bloody Eye Hex. Tergeo."

Slughorn siphoned up the blood that had pooled on Tarquin's chair and desk, and the room was deathly quiet as everyone watched him say down to Bellatrix,

"Fifty points from Slytherin, Miss Black. And three straight Saturdays of detention. You'll need to write a letter of apology to Mr Avery, as well."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. She folded her hands on her desk and said in a voice too shrill for her own liking, "Professor Slughorn, I find it absurd that I should apologise to the boy who refused to stop touching me."

Slughorn shook his head, looking almost sad as he told Bellatrix, "Next time, stand right up and fetch a teacher. He'll be getting detentions, as well."

Bellatrix's eyes burned. "Next time," she repeated, scoffing and nodding. "Right. Next time, it won't just be his eyes bleeding. I feel unwell, Professor. May I be excused?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She shoved her bags into her rucksack and stormed from the Potions classroom, leaving her half-finished eye gel in her cauldron.

Later that night, Bellatrix sat in her bed with the curtains drawn, feeling more dejected than she could remember feeling in a very long while. The other Slytherins were irate with her that she'd lost fifty House points over the incident with Tarquin - a fellow Slytherin. They all wanted to know why Bellatrix couldn't have just shoved his hand away. They wanted to know why she'd gone for his eyes, why there had been blood involved. Even Narcissa, Bellatrix's younger sister who knew hardly anything about boys in general, had insisted that Bellatrix should have just stood up or gotten Professor Slughorn's attention.

None of them understood. No one understood that Bellatrix had spent the last few years beating Tarquin off with a metaphorical stick, that the word no meant absolutely nothing to him at all. None of them had felt the self-defensive rage in her veins when Tarquin had rolled his eyes at her.

As Bellatrix picked up her green leather journal and her black quill, she felt sick with fear. She opened the journal, her hand shaking. She knew that she had to tell him. He'd instructed her to stay out of trouble so she could spy more effectively for him. She needed to confess to disobeying his orders.

_My Lord_ , she wrote, her handwriting spindly from her nerves.  _I am sorry to report that I have gotten myself into trouble less than a week after you told me not to do so. I apologise with all that I am. I shall be in detention for the next three Saturdays, but will be looking and listening as hard as I can around that inconvenience. I'm very sorry. - Bellatrix_

She watched the ink seep into the page as though it were salt in water. She shut the journal and set it on the bed beside her, lying on her side and hoping that her master would forgive her. She stared at the green leather for what seemed like an eternity, thinking she wasn't going to get an answer after all. But then the leather flushed dark, going black, and Bellatrix's heart raced with anxiety. She picked up the journal, nearly dropping it from how hard her hands were shaking. When she opened it, there were four simple words in a neat script.

_What did you do?_

Bellatrix snatched her quill off the bed, waiting for the Dark Lord's ink to fade into the page, and put the brass nib to the paper. She considered carefully what to write, then finally scratched out,

_Tarquin Avery put his hand on my knee and then started to move it up my leg. I told him to take his hand away. When he refused, I cast a Bloody Eye Hex at him. Professor Slughorn was less than impressed. He took fifty points from Slytherin and gave me three weeks' detention._

This time Bellatrix didn't even have time to shut the journal after her words sank in before new ones appeared. The Dark Lord's writing seemed a bit messier this time round.

_Do not concern yourself with the time spent in detentions. Slughorn is a right fool at all times, but if he has punished you for defending yourself, he's an even greater idiot than I'd suspected. Think no more of it. I am not cross with you._

Bellatrix's eyes welled, not for the first time in what had been an absurdly maudlin day. She read over the words as many times as she could before they started to fade away. Her fingers flew to the page, and she whimpered softly as she willed his writing to stay. But then the page went blank, and Bellatrix scribbled as neatly as she could,

_Thank you, Master_.

There was rather a long pause, and Bellatrix was about to shut the journal and tuck herself under her blankets. But then his writing appeared, smooth and calm again.

_Get some sleep, Bella._

Bellatrix felt breathless all of a sudden, brushing her thumb over the words on the page as though doing so was touching the Dark Lord himself. She felt a clenching ache in her chest then, and as the words vanished into the page, Bellatrix whispered,

"Goodnight, My Lord."

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_October 1968_

"Hello, Professor Slughorn." Bellatrix spoke the words with more sour disrespect than she'd intended, but Slughorn feigned a neutral expression as he looked up from his desk. He stood and said,

"Good afternoon, Miss Black. A shame to keep you indoors on what is surely one of autumn's last gasps of beauty, but… well, I'm sure you understand the importance of recompense in this situation. A Bloody Eye Hex. Hmm."

He tutted a little and gestured to the desks in the Potions classroom. Around ten cauldrons had been laid out, and on one desk was a cardboard box of Mrs. Skrubb's Powerful Powder, along with a wooden-handled steel brush. There was a little bucket of water, too, and Bellatrix huffed as she asked,

"Am I to scour all of them, then?"

"Yes, my dear. You may leave once they're all clean. I'll be here grading essays if you need anything." He sat back down at his desk and began to hum absentmindedly, and Bellatrix rolled her eyes. She walked up to the first desk, peered into the iron cauldron, and curled her lip up with disgust at the accumulated grime inside. She sprinkled some of the cleansing powder into the cauldron, ladled in a little water, and set to scrubbing. She'd been scouring cauldrons at least two or three times a year for her entire time at Hogwarts, what with all the detentions she'd earned herself.

The first four cauldrons went relatively smoothly, but then Bellatrix's arm began to ache, and she pushed her sweaty curls from her eyes as she scowled up at Professor Slughorn's desk. Just then, the door to the Potions classroom creaked open, and Slughorn looked up with a surprised expression.

"Ah. Professor Dumbledore," he said. Bellatrix turned round, wiping scouring powder from her nose as she set the steel brush down in the cauldron she'd been cleaning. Professor Dumbledore, who was serving his firm term as Headmaster after the retirement of Armando Dippet, gave Bellatrix a worried look as he walked into the room.

"Professor Slughorn," he said, "I was just looking over this week's disciplinary records, and I could not help but notice something a bit… strange… about Miss Black's punishment." He turned to Bellatrix, cocked up a silvery eyebrow, and asked, "Miss Black, what exactly happened earlier this week?"

Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest. She did not trust or like Albus Dumbledore; he'd made his disdain for Lord Voldemort more than clear over the summer in the Daily Prophet. Still, if he was willing to hear her out…

"Tarquin Avery has been pursuing me for some time, sir," she said crossly. "He put his hand on my leg and started touching me during Potions lessons. I told him to stop; when he did not, I cast an Bloody Eye Hex on him."

"That's why she earned the detention, Albus… er, Professor Dumbledore," said Slughorn. "It was a grave overreaction."

"I hardly think Hogwarts ought to punish the victims of assault in matters such as these, Professor," said Dumbledore in a cautious voice. "Why don't we agree to keep the fifty House points taken, owing to the nature of the hex used, but cancel Miss Black's detentions? I do not think it fair that she should spend three Saturdays scouring cauldrons by hand because a boy decided to touch her against her will."

"You're right, of course, Headmaster." Slughorn nodded and turned his face to Bellatrix. "The points stay detracted, Miss Black, but you may go about your Saturday as you please."

"And I needn't come next week?" Bellatrix asked. "Or the week after that?"

"No. Of course not. Do let us know if Mr Avery causes any more trouble," said Dumbledore. Bellatrix just nodded, slinging her rucksack over her shoulder and snatching her outer robe from the back of a chair. She walked without another word from the Potions classroom, making her way outside to enjoy the last of autumn's sunshine.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_October 1968_

He shouldn't care how Bellatrix Black's detentions went. Lord Voldemort was intelligent enough to know that he shouldn't care. And, yet, hours earlier, he'd scrawled into the journal three words and a question mark. How was detention? He'd not received a response.

He was a busy man. He'd had meetings today in his base at Malfoy Manor, meetings with Abraxas Malfoy and Raffi Macnair and others. He'd discussed fundraising and surreptitious message-spreading and plants at the Ministry. And now, at eight in the evening on a Saturday, he was sending a message to his spy at Hogwarts asking her how her detentions had gone.

That made him feel rather silly, on the one hand. She was seventeen, he reminded himself. Little more than a girl. He was nearly forty-two. He ought not concern himself with the school discipline of a servant who still wore Slytherin robes.

On the other hand, there was something different about Bellatrix that transcended her age. She was wide-eyed with wonder over him. She was unafraid to unleash hell upon anyone who crossed her. She was beautiful in her darkness, and some aching corner of Voldemort's mind hadn't let her go after their too-brief meeting in The Doxy's Next.

He drafted a letter to Titus Avery, warning him that his son's behavior against a loyal servant of the Dark Lord would not be tolerated. He sent it off by owl and paced in his office until at last the leather binding of his journal shifted from green to black. He tried not to rush over to his desk, tried to seem bored even to himself as he peeled open the journal and read,

_My Lord, Albus Dumbledore intervened on my behalf and got my detentions cancelled. He said I shouldn't be punished for what Tarquin Avery did, and the only remaining punishment is the fifty House points for my 'overreaction.' I did have to scour four cauldrons by hand before they let me go. Albus Dumbledore is still an intolerable git. - Bellatrix_

He thought it was rather quaint, the way she addressed her little notes to him and signed them off as though there might be some confusion about who was writing. Voldemort studied her words a few times before they faded away, and he sighed as he wrote,

_It's very likely that Dumbledore will see the potential in you to be won over to his side, in the same way that he undoubtedly sees potential in you to use the Dark Arts freely. He will continue to attempt to 'save' you, to woo you to his cause. Stand firm and do not be swayed by him._

His words sank into the page, and he drummed his fingers on his desk as he waited for a reply. He raked his fingers through his black hair, which was just beginning to grey, and he spun the little marble globe on his desk. Then words appeared on the page, and he read Bellatrix's rushed script again.

_If Albus Dumbledore wanted me on his side, it's too late. He's missed his chance. I belong to the Dark Lord, wholly and completely._

Something jerked through Voldemort's veins at that. He read her last sentence four times, as quickly as he could manage, before the words disappeared. He shut his eyes and remembered the look of Bellatrix down on one knee, staring up at him with her doe-eyed, alabaster face in a state of awe. She was beautiful, he thought. Her dark curls and her dark eyes and her full lips and her…

He clenched his hand onto a fist on his desk and swore under his breath. He was busy. He had an empire to build. He did not have time for silly little girls with their silly little detentions. There were enemies to eliminate. Spies to interrogate. Mudbloods to torture. A Ministry to infiltrate. He did not have time for Bellatrix Black.

And, yet, at eight in the evening on a Saturday, he couldn't think of anything that was especially pressing or demanding of his time. Not right this minute. What he did have was a journal sitting open before him, its pages waiting for his reply. There was only one problem: he didn't know what to say.

Had she been flirting with him? Was she that much of a harlot, the silly girl? Or had she simply been expressing her unparalleled devotion? There was only one way to find out. His hand hovered over the page, his fingers gripping his quill so tightly that it hurt, and he finally managed to scratch out,

_If it isn't Tarquin Avery, then who is it? What young wizard holds the other sort of loyalty a young witch might give?_

He tossed his quill down as the words vanished, shutting his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose. He was a bloody simpering fool, he thought, and he grabbed his wand from the desk.

" _Reducto_ ," he said quietly, aiming his wand at the marble globe on his desk. It burst into dust, into a pile of tiny particles, a little bang signaling the demise of the decoration. Voldemort set his wand down with a shaking hand. If he was going to ascend properly into power, he would need outlets to release his tension, ways to keep himself happy besides killing so that he could stay focused. But Bellatrix Black was just a desperate schoolgirl. She had just come of age; she hadn't even taken her NEWTs yet.

But there was something different about Bellatrix. Something that had nothing to do with years and everything to do with her intent, with the fibres that made up her beautifully wicked being. Voldemort glanced down at his journal to see that Bellatrix had written back. His stomach twisted when he saw that she'd written again,

_I belong to the Dark Lord. Wholly and completely._

He had no good answer for that. There was no way to reply directly to such a thing without making idiots of them both. So Voldemort quickly picked up his quill and scribbled,

_Stay out of trouble, Bella._

He slammed his quill down on his desk and flew to his feet, pacing anxiously as he waited to see if she would reply. Finally her messy writing appeared again.

_I shall try very hard, My Lord. Goodnight._

He contemplated writing one last word to her - Goodnight - but he decided against it. He shut the journal and tucked it into his desk drawer, deciding that under no circumstances would he look at it against for at least a few days. He wouldn't have either of them waiting with bated breath on messages when there was so much else to do. She had classes to pass. House points to earn back. Quidditch matches to attend. Spying to do. And Lord Voldemort had a reign to construct. There was no time, no space, no spare energy for using the journals for any purpose besides the transmission of concrete and critical information. They weren't Muggle telephones. They were devices to help Lord Voldemort gain power.

Voldemort eyed the closed drawer for a moment before walking briskly from his office, deciding he wanted a long and scalding bath before bed tonight.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_November 1968_

"They haven't done this to us since second year," Dahlia Greengrass noted as she and Bellatrix ambled into the open infirmary. She sighed and declared, "Don't you suppose that if a student couldn't smell or see correctly, that person would probably complain to Madam Lester anyway?"

Bellatrix shrugged and said to Dahlia, "If you'd spent years seeing poorly, would you know that it was possible to see better?"

"Good point," Dahlia admitted. She and Bellatrix took a pair of chairs along the wall, where a little sign that read Wait Here had been erected. Dahlia twiddled her thumbs on her lap until Madam Lester appeared, her wrinkled face warm and kind as she said,

"Ah. Miss Greengrass. We can go ahead and start with you. This way, please."

"Good luck!" Bellatrix called after her friend. Dahlia grinned over her shoulder, but Bellatrix's own little smile disappeared when she realised who had just sat down in the chairs next to her. Gryffindors, and a rather distasteful pair of them, at that. Molly Prewett had spoken in public - multiple times - about her disdain for Lord Voldemort and his 'pureblood fanatic' followers. Her boyfriend, Arthur Weasley, was just a big a blood traitor; he was obsessed with Muggles and thought they were a noble race of humans.

Sure enough, as they sat down, Arthur was saying to Molly, "And somehow, with no magic, Muggles figured a system to test the eyes and determine the exact shape and angle and thickness of a necessary lens to see properly. It's positively brilliant."

"It's clever enough," Molly Prewett said, "but I don't envy their experience with their tooth healers."

"Dentists," clarified Arthur, and Molly nodded.

"I learned in Muggle Studies that a trip to the dentist may mean sharp tools being jammed in your mouth for cleaning and examination and fixing up problems. Give me scouring charms and cavity filling by Magic any day of the week."

"But you have to admit that, considering they've done so entirely without Magic, the Muggles have really figured out clever solutions to their problems," Arthur Weasley said. Bellatrix had heard enough. She frowned deeply and snapped,

"Arthur, are you attempting to say that Muggles are intelligent?"

"I wasn't saying anything at all to you, Bellatrix," Arthur shot back, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"You didn't need to. You made yourself quite plain."

"Miss Black! You're next!" It appeared that Dahlia Greengrass had finished, and she gave Bellatrix a sly thumbs-up as she walked out of the infirmary. Bellatrix rose and followed Madam Lester back into the airy infirmary, taking a seat on a chair between two curtains when instructed. Madam Lester flashed her a little smile and said to the self-writing quill hovering in the air beside her, "Bellatrix Black. Slytherin. Sixth-year."

The quill scribbled the information onto the floating parchment, and Madam Lester said in a quick, efficient voice,

"Right, dear. So, we're just going to quickly test the acuity of your five senses to ensure that everything's in working order. With students spending so many months at school, away from home, it's important that we escalate something to a Healer if need be. We'll begin with your sense of smell. Have you noticed any recent problems?"

Bellatrix thought back to the previous week, when they'd used Bubotuber Pus in Potions. She shook her head and shrugged. "No. No problems with smell."

"Very good. Quick test, then." Madam Lester took a little glass jar off the table beside her and unscrewed the lid. She held it below Bellatrix's nose and asked, "What do you smell?"

Bellatrix breathed in, and the scent was almost overwhelmingly strong. "Lemon."

"That's right. Now…  _Odoremutare_." Madam Lester tapped her wand to the edge of the little glass jar and held it up again. "What do you smell now?"

Bellatrix breathed in again and crinkled her nose. It was a smell she didn't much like. Too sweet. "Butterbeer."

"Very well done," said Madam Lester. She closed the jar and put it away, picking up what looked like a toothpick and a cotton swab. She gestured to Bellatrix's hands and said, "Hold out your hands and close your eyes, and then tell me whether I'm touching you with something hard or soft. Ready?"

Bellatrix did as she was ordered, but she didn't care for it one bit. Holding her hands out, vulnerable to someone with a toothpick, whilst her eyes were closed? She was nervous and tense, and it took everything she had to pay the faintest bit of attention to the soft touch of cotton and the hard poke of the toothpick. Hard, soft. Soft, soft, hard. She finished that test up with Madam Lester, and then she worked her way through an eye test in which the letters and figures on the chart Magically rearranged themselves between rounds of assessment. She ate a few little wafers given to her by Madam Lester and positively identified them as tasting sweet, sour, and bitter respectively.

"The last test is hearing," said Madam Lester. "Close your eyes again, please."

Bellatrix sighed, very much disliking the sensation of sitting vulnerably with her eyes shut. Little tinkling bell sounds jingled besides Bellatrix's ears, and she identified for Madam Lester what side they were on when they sounded. "Left. Right. Right, left, left, right. Both."

"Very good." Madam Lester murmured to the quill and parchment beside her, "All senses functioning perfectly well." She gave Bellatrix a little smile and said, "You can go ahead, dear. I think Slytherin sixth-years have Transfiguration soon, eh? If you go now, you won't be late."

"Thanks." Bellatrix rose from her chair, shaking her head as she considered how pointless all this health screening was. And as she walked by Arthur Weasley on her way out, she considered what a fool the boy was for thinking that Muggles' primitive and invasive approach to medicine could ever be considered impressive.

His book was black.

Bellatrix's heart raced when she took the journal out of her rucksack in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. She ignored her desk, kicked off her shoes, and rushed into her bed. She yanked the emerald curtains shut to get privacy, her hands shaking as she opened the journal. Its cover hadn't been black in weeks. She blinked quickly as her eyes adjusted to the dim light within her bed, and she finally took in the neat, even script on the page.

_It has been several weeks since I have heard anything from you. I refuse to believe Hogwarts is quite that dull._

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile a little. She picked up her black quill, unsure of how long her master's message had been in the book. It couldn't have been more than an hour or so; she'd just glanced at the green journal after dinner. Even so, she wrote quickly.

_My Lord, I have nothing particularly exciting to note. However, I did note some behaviour today that seems a bit concerning. I and the other students were subject to rather ridiculous health screening, and whilst waiting, Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley sat beside me. They were going on and on about Muggle medical technology, and Arthur Weasley spoke as though he idolised the Muggles. When I intervened to correct him, both he and Molly Prewett became tense and hostile. I often see the both of them speaking with Albus Dumbledore in the corridors or after meals in what seems like a profoundly friendly capacity. - Bellatrix_

She shook her hand, which ached after writing so much so quickly. Dahlia Greengrass and a few of the other girls had come into the dormitory, chatting about hairstyles, but Bellatrix paid them no mind. She watched as her writing sank into the page, and she waited for a reply. She realised that it might be hours before she heard anything back, if she heard anything at all, for the Dark Lord was a very busy man. But the moment she'd shut the green journal, it had bled black again. Bellatrix's breath caught a little in her chest when she opened the journal to see that the reply was long and thorough.

_We will need to maintain close surveillance of Arthur Weasley, Molly Prewett, and Albus Dumbledore. If the two students are already of age, they may already be part of the organisation I know Dumbledore has founded to oppose me. Just look at you - one needn't be a full-fledged old person to participate in the future of the Wizarding world. I need you to make me a complete list of any and all students and professors who speak negatively about my cause, who speak in favour of Muggles and Mudbloods, et cetera. I need that list within the next few days._

As the writing faded away, Bellatrix prepared to write back at once and assure her master that she would provide the list as soon as she could be very certain of its usefulness, but almost immediately more writing appeared.

_I remember those health screenings. They tried to tell me I needed eyeglasses, so I went ahead and performed complicated spellwork on myself to fix my own vision._

Suddenly Bellatrix smiled, thinking of a young Lord Voldemort during his time at Hogwarts, refusing to wear glasses and doing spellwork far beyond what would be expected of a boy his age. Bellatrix ran her fingers over his writing as it disappeared, and she scribbled back,

_Fortunately, my eyes were fine. The better to see you with, My Lord._

She realised at once that she'd probably sounded obnoxious, or at least flirtatious, and she had a moment of abject panic. She immediately brought her quill to the paper again and wrote,

_I apologise. I do not wish to offend you, Master._

There was a moment of nothing, of blank paper staring back at Bellatrix and the sound of her fellow Slytherin girls giggling over Maximus Malfoy. Then, at last, Lord Voldemort's handwriting appeared again.

_You do not offend me. You amuse me. I confess I rather look forward to seeing you once more in person - I shall be at the Black Family Christmas gathering in order to socialise properly with those who might be sympathetic to my cause. I expect you'll be there. In the meantime, get me that list of potential enemies at Hogwarts. Keep your healthy eyes open._

Bellatrix was grateful she was sitting, or else she would have swooned. He wanted to see her again. Her beloved lord and master, the greatest wizard of all time and the one who would lead them to salvation, wanted to see her again. Bellatrix forced her shaking hand to write,

_I'll have that list to you as soon as possible, My Lord. And I shall see you at the Christmas Party. Goodnight._

She shut the journal, thinking that surely that was the end of the 'conversation.' She stared at the green leather, her entire body feeling alive in a way it had never done before. She gulped hard and shut her eyes, lying on her back and letting her hand trail up the inside of her thigh. She remembered the way his fingers had felt on her left arm, on the place where he'd marked her as his. She remembered what he'd said about that - 'You're mine now.' Bellatrix's breath quickened and she couldn't bring herself to care about the girls beyond her bed curtains as she brushed her knuckles around the outside of her knickers. She turned her head and stared at the journal, at the thing her master had given her that linked her to him just as surely as her Mark. And then she gasped, for it had gone black again.

She rushed to open it, to see what important orders or details he'd sent, but when she saw that it was two simple words, she could not help but let her eyes well up. She stared at the words for a long moment until they faded away.

_Goodnight, Bella._

* * *

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place_

_London_

_December 1968_

She was almost shockingly pretty.

Where she stood in the corner of the parlour, talking softly with her two sisters, she was a vision in black. She'd opted for a floor-length dress of black raw silk, its neckline probably far more plunging than her father would have liked. She had elbow-length black gloves and shimmering diamond bracelet that matched her earrings. Her wild curls had been pulled back into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. Her younger sister Narcissa noticed him first, and when Bellatrix finally turned around, he could see that she'd used dark liner on her eyes and scarlet lipstick. His breath caught just a little bit, and he decided to speak to some of the others before giving her any attention.

Voldemort could feel Bellatrix's eyes on him as he talked mundane monetary details with her father, Cygnus Black III. As he stood chatting with Abraxas Malfoy about their plants in the Ministry, he knew her gaze was flicking back and forth to him. She was drinking wine, and in the time that Voldemort spent talking to Malfoy, he watched her finish one glass and start another. She was nervous.

Finally, Abraxas' wife Cerda Rosier pulled him into a conversation with Bellatrix's mother Druella. That left Voldemort no more easy avenues of avoidance, and he finally made his way to the corner where Bellatrix was holding a goblet of elf-made wine for dear life. When he walked up to her, she dipped a little and bowed her head.

"My Lord," she murmured, and her sisters dashed off with apparent fear. Voldemort sighed once Bellatrix's pretty eyes met his, and he quirked up half his mouth.

"You clean up well," he told her, and she smiled a little as she sipped from her wine. Very obviously emboldened by the alcohol, she told him,

"A tuxedo suits you, My Lord."

Voldemort swallowed hard and shrugged, unsure of what he ought to say just now. He felt at once as though the words he wanted to say to Bellatrix were far more easily conveyed through writing, and also as though the two of them could talk for hours. He felt like he knew her well now, after months of scribbling notes back and forth in their enchanted journals. This had not been an intended side effect of the charmed books. He finally chomped his lip and asked,

"Did you… have a good journey home from school?"

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you." Bellatrix turned her eyes away from him and noted, "My parents live here in London, so it's… erm… easy to get from the train to here, you know?"

"Bella." Voldemort shook his head, tired of pretending and posturing. When her eyes turned to him, he told her, "I don't care about your ride on the Hogwarts Express."

Bellatrix glanced around them as if to ensure that no one was listening. "What do you care about, My Lord?"

"My servant," he said simply, sipping from his tumbler of whiskey. Bellatrix's eyes flashed, and there was a smattering of applause in her uncle's parlour as the hired string quartet finished one Christmas tune and started up another.

"My cousins Sirius and Regulus live here," Bellatrix noted softly. "When I was younger, my sisters and I would play with them sometimes in the library upstairs."

"Library," Voldemort nodded. He sighed and looked around. Everyone at the party that meant to give him sycophantic attention had already done so. Everyone was tangled up in formal conversations or laughter-filled exchanges. The hors d'oeuvres had already been served and eaten. The wine and whiskey were flowing. Dancing would start soon enough. Voldemort squeezed the tumbler of whiskey in his hand and said down to Bellatrix, "I might… like to go sit in a library. Just for a little while."

"It's just this way, My Lord," Bellatrix said. She led him slowly and discreetly through the parlour and toward the staircase, and as she climbed, he couldn't help but notice the way her formal gown hugged her curves. His breath shook a little in his nostrils as he reminded himself that he'd come to this party to talk to Abraxas Malfoy about his loyalists in the Auror Department. He'd come to talk about pureblood families' donations to his cause with Cygnus Black III.

And if he was utterly honest with himself, he'd come to see the girl who had been writing to him for months.

"You were right, entirely right, with that list you sent me," he told her as they walked into a windowless library. Bellatrix flicked her wand at the fireplace, impressing the Dark Lord with her nonverbal magic as she cast a fire that set a glow upon the room. She turned round and nodded.

"The entire Prewett family are blood traitors, My Lord," she said. "Molly's brothers, Gideon and Fabian, are just as bad as her. And as for Molly, the rumour is that she means to marry Arthur Weasley immediately after they leave school. He's utterly obsessed with Muggles; he's roped Lucas Potter into late nights in the library researching them. Professor McGonagall eggs them on. She and Dumbledore are very friendly. I've been trying, My Lord, to watch them all as best I can."

"And the information you've given me is invaluable," Voldemort confirmed. It was true, too. He had spies outside of Hogwarts watching the grown-up Prewetts and Weasleys closely, and now that the students were home for holidays, he was tracking their every move. He tipped his head and said to Bellatrix,

"You've already proven your loyalty in the realm of espionage, Bella. I wonder… how else are you loyal?"

Her eyes went wide and her lips parted a little as he took a step closer to her. He couldn't help but ogle the gentle curve of her breasts in her low-cut gown, nor the way it showed off her narrow little waist. He couldn't help but study the red gleam on her lips, and suddenly he wanted to kiss her there. He'd never actually kissed a woman. He could never be bothered to do so, for women were very often distractions from the more important goals in his life.

When he'd been a handsome Tom Riddle at Hogwarts, the girls had fawned over him, but he'd gained more prestige by ignoring them. When he'd been a young man, women seemed like a way to cheapen himself. He was better than what he would do with them. Then he'd grown older and more determined in his quest for power, and there had never been time or space or energy to spare for a woman.

And Bellatrix wasn't even really a woman, Voldemort reminded himself. She had just barely come of age. She was in an evening gown tonight, but she'd be back in her Slytherin robes in just a few weeks. Suddenly he realised that she was home for a few weeks, that he might see her again outside of this party before she went back to school, and before he could stop himself, he set down his whiskey.

"I'd like to kiss you," he informed her matter-of-factly. He took her wine glass from her hands before she could say anything, and he put a hand on each of her cheeks. Her eyes searched his, and he informed her crisply, "This is different than when that stupid boy touched your leg in Potions class. You understand?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. Her own hands went to his sleeves, holding his arms as though she were afraid of falling. Voldemort lowered his face to hers, abruptly nervous in a way he couldn't remember being. He'd never been nervous about kissing a woman because he'd never kissed a woman. And he really couldn't say why he so badly wanted to kiss Bellatrix now, but he did want it, more than nearly anything.

She tasted like wine and her full lips were soft as he touched his mouth to hers. Her breath was warm and shaky; her hands squeezed on the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket. She was just as nervous as him. Voldemort pushed into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency and immediately sensed that she'd never been kissed, either. At least she was only seventeen. That was a better excuse for inexperience, Voldemort thought. She was frightened of what he might do to her if she displeased him. Voldemort pulled out of her mind and shook his head, whispering against her mouth,

"I am not displeased."

He kissed her again, his hands moving from her face as his lips pushed against hers. His right hand went to the small of her back and his left moved smoothly over the curls she'd swept back. Bellatrix moved her own hands from his sleeves to the front of his jacket, her palms pressing against his shirt. Suddenly Voldemort lost a little bit of his prized self-control; he pulled her more tightly against him and swept his tongue over Bellatrix's lip. She squealed quietly but opened her mouth, and Voldemort immediately pushed his tongue inside and dragged it over the roof of her mouth. Everything was warm and swimming in his head; he wanted nothing more than to undo the zip at the back of Bellatrix's dress and find out what she looked like wearing nothing but his Dark Mark.

"Oy! Sirius, while you're up there, grab some Gobstones, will you? I'm going to play with Narcissa!"

"That's my cousin Regulus." Bellatrix stumbled back a few steps, away from Voldemort, who realised at once that she could probably see the lump that had formed in his trousers. He dragged his fingers over his lips and saw the traces of her crimson lipstick on his skin. He pulled out his wand as a young boy of seven or eight dashed by in the corridor outside the library. Voldemort cast a nonverbal Scourgify on himself and on Bellatrix, cleaning up the mess her lipstick had made on the both of them.

Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was quick as she stared at him. Voldemort was ashamed, all of a sudden, at the way he'd let himself be so vulnerable and human with Bellatrix. She was hardly a woman. She was his servant. He was better than this. Better than her. He was her master. He'd be turning forty-two in…

He stopped, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He licked his lip and couldn't keep himself from saying,

"My birthday is… two weeks from today."

"Oh. Happy early birthday, My Lord." Bellatrix was considering whether she was supposed to get her master a gift. He could tell that without even peering in her mind. He gave her a meaningful look and said,

"I don't make a point of celebrating it. But it's on New Year's Eve, and…"

He trailed off then, not even sure of what he was trying to tell her. He gnawed his lip harder than ever, tasting a little blood, and he said,

"I'm based at Malfoy Manor for the time being. You're welcome there. On New Year's Eve. If you… decide to come."

Bellatrix nodded, dragging her thumb over her lip. "Yes. I'd like that. Thank you."

"Right. We should go downstairs separately, I think. You first." Voldemort hardened his voice, trying to remind the both of them that he was her master and she was his servant, that he was the ascending Dark Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix, being the lovely wicked thing that she was, gave him an obedient nod and walked quickly from the library, leaving him behind as though nothing strange had happened at all.

* * *

_Black Family Residence_

_Kensington, London_

_December 1968_

He'd kissed her.

Even hours after it had happened, as Bellatrix lay in her bed at her parents' house, staring at the ceiling with the dried salty streaks of old tears on her cheeks, she couldn't believe it. He'd left the party with her and he'd taken her face in his hands and he'd kissed her.

For months, she'd dreamed of him doing it. He was so handsome, with his chiseled face and his glittering eyes, but he was her lord and master. He was much older than her. He was so far beyond her plane of existence that it had seemed utterly impossible for him to ever really touch her. But Bellatrix had dreamed just the same.

He'd tasted like whiskey, like something warm and deep. Almost like black pepper, like something spicy and forbidden and delicious. His lips had trembled on hers, but his words had been certain and steady. She had no idea why he'd wanted to kiss her, nor why he'd invited her to Malfoy Manor on his birthday, but she was hardly about to protest. For months she'd dreamed of him, and for some reason tonight he'd decided to make those dreams manifest.

Bellatrix stared at the green leather journal he'd given her. She always slept with it on the mattress beside her, for it was the most treasured possession she had. She stared at it as though his soul was in the book itself, though of course that was a ludicrous thought. Bellatrix's eyes were heavy; it was past midnight and she'd had far too much to drink after his kiss. She was nearly asleep when she noticed something was different about the journal.

It had gone black.

Suddenly wide awake, Bellatrix snatched the journal and sat straight up in her bed. For a moment, she didn't open the book. She was afraid of what it would say. Perhaps he would be telling her that he'd made a mistake, that she hadn't been worth it, that it had just been the whiskey. Perhaps he'd order her to return the journal to him and just finish off her schooling. Bellatrix stared at the black cover of the journal, her breath coming in shallow pants as she forced her fingers to pry open the cover.

_Bella_ , she read, his script far messier than it usually was. There was nothing else, and for a moment Bellatrix wondered if he was sitting at Malfoy Manor, sloshed from the whiskey and arbitrarily writing her name in the book. But then her name disappeared and new words immediately appeared.

_You were almost inexcusably lovely tonight. Have a happy Christmas. I shall see you on the thirty-first at precisely nine o'clock at Malfoy Manor._

Bellatrix couldn't breathe. She pressed her fingers to his writing, and even as it faded away, she could taste him again. She managed to take her black quill from the table beside her bed, and her fingers shook like mad as she wrote,

_Happy Christmas, My Lord._

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_31 December 1968_

Bellatrix's fingers trembled around the little box in her hand. She strode up the gravel path that led to the expansive front doors of Malfoy Manor, and she gulped hard. She was trying to contemplate how to ask for him, how to let the inhabitants of the house know that she was there to see the Dark Lord at his invitation. Lucius Malfoy lived here, she knew. He was a few years younger than her and was close with Narcissa at school. What if it was Lucius to answer the door and not their House-Elf? How did Bellatrix explain that she'd come to see their Master on his birthday?

Fortunately, she didn't have to think much harder about that, because one of the massive doors opened, and the Dark Lord himself appeared. He stepped out into the frigid night, clad in elegant black robes over a white dress shirt and black tie. Bellatrix herself was shivering in her knee-length black velvet dress, even with the cloak over it, for it was the coldest night she could remember in a good long while. Her breath puffed before her as she approached Lord Voldemort, and she suddenly tasted their kiss at Grimmauld Place.

Her steps faltered a little as she walked up to him, for his face was stern and seemed angry. She paused, her boots scratching on the gravel, and the little smile she'd drummed up disappeared. He jerked his head toward the house and said grimly,

"Follow me."

Bellatrix did, her boots clacking obnoxiously on the marble floor of the house's foyer. It was still and quiet, despite it being a holiday, and Bellatrix couldn't help wondering if the Malfoys had been booted from their own house for the evening. She followed the Dark Lord up the wide, dark staircase to the house's first floor, then up another set of winding stairs. She trotted behind him through a shadowy corridor until he flung a door open with wandless magic. Bellatrix, awed as always by his power, followed him into the office, and when the door slammed shut behind her, she flinched.

" _Legilimens_ ," said Voldemort immediately, his voice dangerous. Bellatrix staggered back against the door from the force of him crashing into her mind. She felt queasy and dizzy as he rifled furiously through her thoughts. He was looking for something specific, Bellatrix could feel. Then she sensed it - the sort of memory he was seeking. He was trying to find evidence that she'd cursed him, proof that she'd secretly dosed him with some kind of potion. He was convinced she'd done something to make him weak for her, and he was looking for something to corroborate his suspicion.

He wouldn't find it. She'd not poisoned him or put a spell upon him, and all he found was the opposite. Suddenly a memory ripped forward, a picture of Bellatrix lying alone in her bed in her Slytherin dormitory, staring at the green journal as she wondered if someday she'd be allowed to be a real soldier for her lord. Another memory crashed up, and suddenly Bellatrix was walking down a street in London, murmuring to her somewhat concerned father that she would gladly fight and die for the Dark Lord. Then came the image of her holding his sleeves, of his glittering black eyes in the library at Grimmauld Place, and a powerful thought raced through Bellatrix's mind. He is perfection.

Finally Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, his fingers dragging over the spines of the books on the shelves lining the walls. His face was very serious as he told Bellatrix,

"I needed to be certain you hadn't done anything to me. Anything Magical, that is. I can see you haven't. I apologise for the… for tearing through your mind like that. But it was necessary."

Bellatrix nodded, realising she'd dropped the little box from her hands in the course of having him in her mind. She bent to pick it up, and she held it out to him with trembling fingers.

"Happy birthday, My Lord," she said. He took the little box and nodded, pulling the black lid from the box and opening it. His face was a little strange then, his eyes gleaming oddly and his lips looking like they weren't sure what to do with themselves. He pulled out the sterling silver tie bar Bellatrix had bought for him in Diagon Alley, a carved serpent ornament, and he set the box down on the desk behind him.

"I admit I have no idea what sort of gifts men like," Bellatrix said worriedly, knitting her hands in front of her, "for I have no real experience with buying men's gifts, except for my father. He doesn't wear ties very often, but you do, so I… and, I apologise if I was wrong to assume you'd been a Slytherin."

She was rambling, she knew, but the Dark Lord dragged his thumb over the carved silver snake and shook his head.

"I was a Slytherin," he assured her. Then he slid the bar onto the black silk tie he wore, patting it once or twice and nodding. He raised his eyes to her and said quietly, "Thank you, Bella."

She smiled then, a real smile for the first time all night. She knew why he'd needed to ensure she hadn't tricked him into kissing her. She could understand his lack of trust. But she also saw something very powerful in his gaze as his black eyes studied hers.

"Do you know how I spent Christmas?" he asked rather unexpectedly, and Bellatrix shook her head.

"There was a Ministry employee who strongly suspected that a certain Auror worked for Lord Voldemort. He was right, of course, but I couldn't have him going about spreading such a compromising suspicion."

"Did you kill him, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, her heart racing a little. Voldemort smirked but shook his head.

"No, you wicked little thing. That would have been entirely too obvious. I spent hours on Christmas morning carefully Obliviating him and replacing his memories. I Confounded him a half dozen times. He went back to work on the twenty-sixth and will never again bear suspicion against me. That's how I spent my Christmas, Bella."

She couldn't help smiling a little as she admitted, "That sounds much more fun than the boring day I had."

Voldemort tipped his head and tucked Bellatrix's hair behind her ear, making her shiver. "You like that idea, don't you?" he murmured. "You like the idea of destroying someone's mind. I saw it in your memories; you want to torture and kill for me."

"I've always dreamed of casting the Cruciatus Curse," Bellatrix said. She'd never admitted that to anyone else, and Voldemort's eyebrows went up with what seemed like pleased surprise.

"And cast it you shall," he told her. "You'll be a fearsome force of Darkness for me, won't you, Bellatrix?"

"I'll be whatever you want me to be, My Lord," she assured him. He took a half step closer to her so that her back was against the door with him towering over her. He touched at her hair again and said quietly,

"Who you are will do just fine. There's a smoky cloak of cruelty all around your very being, Bella, and I admit I find it beautiful."

He kissed her then, his mouth lowering to hers and pressing more assuredly than he'd done at Grimmauld Place. His lips urged her mouth open at once, and Bellatrix rather boldly reached for his clean-shaven cheeks. He grunted softly and pushed his tongue into her mouth, his own hands settling on the waist of the black velvet dress she wore.

She suddenly understood. It wasn't just for security that he'd searched her mind. He was confused by the way his body wanted her, and she could tell right now that his body did want her. He'd needed to ensure that she hadn't tricked the Dark Lord into desiring his own servant.

If she'd tricked him, it hadn't been on purpose, and it seemed he understood that. But as he pressed her back against the door, his breath was rickety with want. The need radiated off him like heat from a flame. Bellatrix felt it in the marrow of her own bones; she desired the Dark Lord in a way she'd never known a woman could desire a man.

His fingers touched the skin just above her knee, trailing up a little on the inside of her leg. Bellatrix shivered and let her head fall back against the door as he asked her,

"Is this where he touched you? The Avery boy?"

Bellatrix nodded, wholly unable to speak. Voldemort pressed his palm to the skin, dragging his hand up toward Bellatrix's knickers as she went wet and warm from the inside out. He leaned to kiss her cheekbone, and he whispered,

"He touched you like this?"

"Not… not quite like this, My Lord," Bellatrix admitted, and her master let out a rumbling laugh. He stroked the inside of Bellatrix's thigh more firmly, and his other hand squeezed at her waist a little. Bellatrix shifted on her feet, suddenly overcome with the ache of arousal. Lord Voldemort touched his lips to her neck and mumbled,

"He wasn't even touching you this much, and yet you made his eyes bleed, didn't you? You wicked little thing… you made that boy's eyes bleed just for putting a hand on you."

"Yes, I did," Bellatrix said, her hands going to the Dark Lord's cheeks again. He put his mouth on hers, crushing her with a bruising kiss that elicited a helpless moan from Bellatrix. When he pulled his mouth away, he stared at her and demanded,

"And what will you do to your master for touching your leg, Bella?"

"Anything you want," she whispered. Her fingers dusted over the tie bar she'd brought him, and when she raised her eyes, he looked so hungry that she was almost afraid. He shut his eyes and stood up, away from her, and her squeezed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.

"You need to leave," he said, sending a shock through Bellatrix. He sighed heavily and glared at her. "If you don't leave, I'm going to do something that… I'll do a lot more than touch your leg, Bella."

She was breathless at that, and she shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

He licked his bottom lip and shook his head. "Go home, Bella, before I do something we'll both regret. Thank you for the birthday gift. Keep your journal near you."

She knew better than to argue with him, despite the way his orders had crushed her a little. She nodded and reached for the handle on the door behind her. She was prepared to go, but suddenly Voldemort said in an angry voice,

"You like orange in your tea. Or milk. Not both at once, obviously. You don't like lemon. You hate warm summers; you love the rain. Outside of your school uniform, you only ever really wear black. Except for that one time your mother made you wear green for a family portrait. You and Andromeda are polar opposites; Narcissa's much younger but acts like she's the eldest. You only go to Quidditch matches because you have friends on the team. You think Gobstones is an idiotic game. You like Potions. You think Defence Against the Dark Arts is a joke at worst or a learning manual for the Dark Arts at best. You nearly failed Muggle Studies last term. A week before the Christmas holidays, you fell asleep in the library because the book you were reading was so dull. Your favourite Christmas gift was an enchanted weather globe from your father. Have I got it all right?"

Bellatrix nodded solemnly. He knew all of that because of how they'd communicated through their journals. She knew less detail about him, but she knew a good deal about what he liked and disliked and how he spent his days. And she knew why he was bringing it up now. It wasn't just that he lusted after her. It was something significantly more frightening than that.

"Go home, Bella," he whispered, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Happy birthday, My Lord," she told him firmly, turning the handle on the door and disappearing without another word.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_3 January 1969_

_Where are you?_

Voldemort had written the three words after debating all morning whether to do so. He'd considered Summoning her through her Dark Mark. He'd considered showing up at her parents' house and pretending he needed to meet with her father. He'd considered throwing his journal into the fire and never speaking to her again.

Instead he'd written the three simple words asking her where she was, three words that meant far too much just now. He shut his eyes and tossed his journal down on his desk, angrily snatching up a letter that had come by owl an hour earlier. He'd already read it; it was a letter of intent from Macnair's brother, wishing to formally join Voldemort's ranks. He'd already responded to the letter, so rereading it now was utterly pointless. But he read it, and he read it again, and even when he saw his journal go black, he made no move to pick it up.

Finally, he couldn't help himself, and he balled the letter from Rivinius Macnair up and slammed it onto his desk. He grabbed his journal, expecting that he wouldn't keep himself from going to her parents' house, where he suspected she was. But then he read her response, and his stomach yanked almost painfully.

_I am on the train back to school, My Lord._

He was too late. He'd hemmed and hawed for the last four days over contacting her, thinking of myriad ways to tell her he wanted her, ways to tell her she needed to stay away, ways of demanding she come to him and give him what he wanted. But he'd held off, trying to convince himself to go about his business without thinking of her. That hadn't worked at all, and today he'd finally scrawled the words asking her where she was. But he was too late.

He picked up his black quill, its nib scratching roughly on the page as he wrote,  _When is the first Hogsmeade trip of the term?_

There was a long break of nothing after his words sank into the page. There was such an extensive nothing, in fact, that Voldemort thought perhaps he'd been too forward and he wouldn't get a reply at all. He was about to write something angrily instructing Bellatrix not to inform him, but then hastily scrawled words appeared.

_Apologies, My Lord; the Trolley Witch was here. The next Hogsmeade trip is the first weekend in February. Do you need me for something before then?_

He froze as he read that. Yes, he needed her, or at least he wanted her. He shut his eyes and remembered the feel of her hands on his face, the way she'd moaned against his mouth, and he shivered a little. He put his quill to the page and wrote simply,

_The first weekend of February will do fine._ Be at _the Doxy's Nest, Room Eight, at noon the day you go into town._

He set the journal down, not waiting for an answer. He had work to do.

* * *

_Hogsmeade_

_1 February 1969_

"So," said Dahlia Greengrass as the sixth-year Slytherin girls walked down the muddy path, "I need to go to Spintwitches."

"Sporting goods?" Ophelia Selwyn wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "You're entirely too invested in playing Quidditch, Dahlia."

"I need new gloves!" Dahlia said, throwing up her hands and complaining, "I'm getting callouses from my worn-out old ones. Rabastan Lestrange works us to death in practise."

"Well, it's important that we beat the everliving scum out of Gryffindor, isn't it?" laughed Fiona Macnair. Bellatrix smirked and told Dahlia,

"Sounds like you're on your own. Good luck finding gloves."

Dahlia huffed but waved to the other girls as she made her way down the street. Ophelia Selwyn rubbed at her arms in the snowy air and said,

"I could go for a nice cuppa. Anyone up for Madam Pudifoot's?"

"Ooh. Yes. Me." Fiona Macnair held up a mittened hand, and both girls looked at Bellatrix expectantly. She gave them an apologetic shrug and said honestly,

"I'm meeting a visitor at the Doxy's Nest."

"A visitor?" Ophelia cocked up and eyebrow and grinned. "Would that be Rodolphus Lestrange, by any chance?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Rodolphus had left Hogwarts a few years earlier and worked at the Ministry now. There were murmurs among the Pureblood community that perhaps Bellatrix might marry Rodolphus after she left school, but for now Bellatrix shrugged and said lightly,

"I don't kiss and tell."

"Well. Hmm… enjoy yourself, but be careful, eh?" Ophelia pointed her wand at Bellatrix's abdomen. "Nongravidare. You're welcome."

"Ophelia!" Bellatrix cried, feeling the powerful contraceptive spell take hold. Fiona Macnair giggled madly.

"If you don't need it, don't use it," shrugged Ophelia. "We're off to get tea. Bye!"

"Bye, then." Bellatrix turned back toward the shadowy end of the street to the crooked-looking building that held the Doxy's Nest. She pushed open the heavy, creaking door and found a goblin perched upon a stool at the cramped desk in the tiny front room. It couldn't properly be called a lobby; it was really just a coat rack and a desk with a few keys behind it. Bellatrix shook the snow off her school cloak and stomped her feet on the worn rug in the entry.

"Room Eight, eh?" asked the goblin in a voice long worn with years and smoke. He set down his pipe and gestured up the stairs. "He's already up there."

"Thank you," Bellatrix mumbled, realising immediately why the Dark Lord had chosen this location instead of the Hog's Head or anything vaguely public. She climbed the narrow steps, thinking over the past month.

Nearly every day, she'd communicated with the Dark Lord in their journals. Sometimes she told him important information, like when some of the Slytherin boys had been talking in the common room about wanting to follow Voldemort after leaving school. Sometimes she wrote about Dumbledore and the ways he was obviously trying to sway students to his side. The Dark Lord informed her about his plants at the Ministry, about the way her father was fundraising for him.

He also wrote one time about accidentally biting into a mealy apple that had ruined a morning. She'd written about receiving entirely unjust marks on a Transfiguration essay. He wrote about the cold rain in Wiltshire; she'd replied that it was snowing up in Scotland. He'd asked her if he'd gone too far on New Year's Eve. She'd assured him that he had not.

But last night, the only message she'd received had been a single line reminding her to be at the Doxy's Nest today at noon. As if she could forget, Bellatrix thought as she neared the top of the stairs. She knew what he wanted of her, and though she couldn't express such a thing to the other girls, she'd been grateful for the notoriously promiscuous Ophelia's contraceptive charm. Bellatrix couldn't be certain that the Dark Lord would do anything to her to necessitate the charm, but the misbehaving part of her mind couldn't help dreaming about such a thing. In fact, she'd dreamed it in lurid detail the night before, waking up drenched in sweat and wet between her legs.

Now she raised her fist to knock on the door of Room Eight. Before her knuckles could touch the wood, the door creaked open, and her master stood in the threshold. He curled up half his mouth and reached out to tuck her curls behind her ear.

"Hello, Bella."

* * *

_The Doxy's Nest, Hogsmeade_

_1 February 1969_

He shut the door behind her, and she stepped into the wood-paneled room with its slightly dingy, chunky furniture. The faint scent of rose that she brought into the room with her made Voldemort a little dizzy. He kept his hand on the door for a moment and just watched as Bellatrix set her rucksack down on the trunk by the foot of the bed.

"Did you get your marks up with McGonagall?" he asked finally, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"Yes, My Lord. She's a wench, but even she couldn't give me poor marks when I managed to Transfigure a pillow into a shoe."

"A pillow into a show, eh?" Voldemort picked up a dusty pillow from the bed and pushed it into Bellatrix's arms. "Show me."

She smiled crookedly and pulled out her wand, looking strangely pretty as she tapped her wand at four points on the pillow and murmured, "Calceatus."

The pillow shifted and stretched until its frilly fabric turned to black leather. The shape of the pillow firmed up and shrank, and soon enough Bellatrix was holding a high-heeled black shoe in her hands. She held it up proudly to Lord Voldemort, who took it and ran his fingers over its black satin laces.

"Well done," he told her, tossing the shoe down onto the bed. "Full marks were received, I'm sure." He stepped closer to Bellatrix and brushed his thumb beneath her eye and said, "I didn't tell you to come here so that you could Transfigure me a shoe."

"No?" Bellatrix tipped her head up and covered his hand with hers. "Why did you tell me to come, My Lord?"

He stepped even closer, until he was standing over her. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted. Really, he'd just wanted to be in the same room as her. He wanted to smell the rose on her hair and look into her eyes, the eyes that would one day kill for him without question. He thought aloud then, not censoring himself for her, as he mused,

"I could throw you down onto this dusty, lumpy old bed and shove your knickers aside and fuck you in that school uniform. I could shove you down onto your knees and fuck your mouth until you gagged and cried. I could bend you over on this trunk and hold your hair while I took you from behind. And you wouldn't complain, would you?"

She shook her head silently. Her lovely alabaster cheeks had gone scarlet and her eyes were glittering with something Voldemort couldn't quite place. He cupped her jaw in his hand and touched his lips to hers as he whispered,

"But I don't want to fuck you, Bella. Do you know why?"

"No," Bellatrix breathed. "Why?"

"Because if you pick an apple before it's ripe, it sours," Voldemort told her. When she looked confused, he specified, "Not that you are an apple, Bella. You know what I mean. You've still got two years of school, Bellatrix. I am a patient man. I can wait until you're…"

"Ripe?" she said the word with great distaste, her face twisting with distaste. He laughed a little and rolled his eyes.

"A very bad analogy, then. I'm sorry. What I mean to say is that I won't take something like that from you before it seems… appropriate."

Bellatrix pursed her lips and sounded almost impudent as she said, "There is nothing you could do to me, My Lord, that would feel inappropriate."

Voldemort squeezed her cheek a little and kissed her, bringing his lips down to hers as he murmured, "I won't destroy my servant with the greatest potential."

"With all due respect, My Lord…" Bellatrix whispered, "how could it be that you taking me for your own, even more than I am yours now, would be a way of destroying me?"

He pulled away a little, confused, and Bellatrix reached up bravely to stroke his cheek. She gave him a very serious look, an expression that went far beyond her seventeen years, and her voice was low and husky as she told him,

"Nothing you could do to me would destroy me, My Lord. Any touch, any breath, any kiss… anything at all from you… the power of your very presence is like Transfiguring a plain old rock into a diamond. But if you deem it destruction, then, My Lord, I beg you to destroy me."

"Bella." He closed his eyes, taking a half step back from her. "I have an empire to build; I do not need temptation from a little girl."

She said nothing, but when he opened her eyes, she was staring at him like she hadn't eaten in a week. She nodded.

"As you wish, My Lord. Whatever pleases you."

He had her on her back before she knew what was happening, and she was yanking on his tie. He shoved her back against the bed, hiking up her school skirt and wondering just what he had been thinking the day he'd handed her a journal in this very room.

* * *

_The Doxy's Nest, Hogsmeade_

_1 February 1969_

He let her loosen his black tie and slide it up over his head, and it was then she noticed he'd worn the tie bar she'd given him for his birthday. Her hands shook so badly as she unbuttoned his waistcoat that she could barely do it. He slid off his outer robe and let it fall, and as Bellatrix opened his black shirt, his hands ran up and down her thighs. His eyes glittered madly and his breath came hard and fast, and his fingers hooked inside the waistband of Bellatrix's knickers. Once he'd pushed everything off his chest, Bellatrix moaned a little.

The sight of him standing there, toned and sinewy enough to send shivers up her spine, was entirely too much. The feel of him sliding her knickers down over her legs, of his fingers touching the wet place between her thighs, was so much that she couldn't breathe. And the way one of his hands worked at the zipper at her waist made her eyes wrench shut.

"You're frightened," he guessed without entering her mind, but Bellatrix shook her head against the worn-out brocade coverlet.

"No, My Lord," she managed, her voice distant to her own ringing ears. "I am not afraid."

"No?" He started pulling off her black outer robe, and she wriggled to help him get off her tank and her tie and her white button-up shirt. He leaned down once the only thing left on her was her white lace bra, and as he cupped her breast in his hand, he whispered near her ear, "You're not afraid of me, Bella?"

"I… am afraid of your power. I am in awe of you. I can't be as afraid of you as I probably should, My Lord," she admitted, her back arching up as he pulled down her skirt with one hand and used the other to reach behind for the clasp of her bra. Bellatrix gulped as she realised she was naked to him now, and all she could do was hope he didn't find her hideous.. His weight shifted a few times as he kicked off his shoes, and then his hands went to the placket of his trousers. He unbuttoned them and pulled them off with his black underwear, halfheartedly folding them and laying them on the trunk at the end of the bed.

Bellatrix gawked. She couldn't help herself. His skin was pale and milky in the lamplight. His muscles - all of them - seemed taut and just thick enough. His manhood, which did frighten her a little, stood at attention, jutting out from his hips as he stroked it a few times and asked in a tight voice,

"Do you require a contraceptive spell?"

She shook her head and croaked out, "I've already had one."

"Little minx," he told her, shaking his head, "to assume you'd be receiving me like this."

"Actually, it was my friend Ophelia," said Bellatrix. He scowled and demanded,

"You told her you were coming here to meet me?"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix amended quickly. "She thought it was Rodolphus Lestrange. She assumed. It... doesn't matter."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. When he jerked his head toward the bed, she pulled herself back and onto it. She tossed aside the shoe she'd Transfigured for him and started to arrange herself on the pillows, but the Dark Lord said sharply,

"Hands and knees."

Bellatrix obeyed him, although it was much more intimidating to bare herself like this to him. She shut her eyes and gasped when he knelt behind her and dragged his fingers around her sopping wet entrance. She heard him gasp, as if the feel of her had surprised him somehow. Suddenly overcome with anxiety, Bellatrix murmured over her shoulder,

"I'm sorry, My Lord; I've never done this before."

"Neither have I," he answered at once. Bellatrix blinked her eyes open, utterly shocked that he'd said such a thing. He seemed very serious, and when Bellatrix opened her mouth to ask what he'd meant, his fingers stilled on her and he said, "Until that night at Grimmauld Place, I'd never kissed a woman, Bellatrix, and up until this very moment I've never taken one. Women have always been dreadful distractions, in my experience."

Bellatrix tried to speak through the sensation of his fingers on her quim, and she finally asked, "Am I not a distraction, My Lord?"

He licked his lip. "I find it to be a much bigger distraction to ignore you. This will probably hurt. Try not to be loud."

He took his cock in his hand and lined himself up with Bellatrix, and when he pushed in, she was forced to drop down onto her elbows and burrow her face into the ragged pillows. It was the only way she could muffle the cry that ripped itself from her throat. She was being stretched, and a tearing sensation gave way to a fiery burn. She wrenched her eyes shut and tried to focus on the way his hands were going from her waist to her breasts, around to her back and then to her waist again. He pumped himself slowly in and out, and every time he did, a fresh feeling of invasion took Bellatrix over. The pain gradually faded, giving way to an intense but quiet pleasure. Behind her, Voldemort's breath was rickety, and little groans came from him every now and then, but for the most part he moved in silence. Finally he jerked his hips a bit harder against Bellatrix, and she turned her face from the pillows to look at him over her shoulder. His face contorted like he was in pain, but when he whispered a single word, she could tell he felt only satisfaction.

"Bella…"

His hands tightened on her waist, and Bellatrix felt a little trail of wetness leaking out between them. She stayed still, for he hadn't ordered her to do anything else. She wondered absently if she was indeed destroyed in some way now. She couldn't care. It had been him to do this. Her lord and master, her beautiful captain, her splendid commander. It had been him to plunder her like this, and as she lay sweaty and dusty and covered in his essence, she felt more clean than ever.

He pulled himself away from her after a moment, picking up his wand and casting nonverbal spells that visibly cleaned his skin and neatened his messy hair. He aimed his wand at Bellatrix and mumbled, " Tergeo. Scourgify. Go ahead and get dressed."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix rose from the bed, feeling awfully sore. She must have been walking funny, because the Dark Lord reached for her wrist and pulled her close, and he brushed his wand up her thigh as he whispered,

" _Allevio_."

The aching between Bellatrix's legs went away at once, and she flashed a little smile up to her lord.

"Thank you," she told him, and she didn't just mean for the pain relief. He nodded, took her jaw in one hand, and planted a careful kiss on her lips. But then he said quietly,

"This…  _t_ _his,_  Bella… it means nothing. You understand? I am your master."

"I understand, My Lord." Bellatrix had more than enjoyed what he'd done to her, but she had brought him pleasure, and that had been the purpose. She'd be a fool to expect anything more, and she didn't. She didn't expect anything at all from Lord Voldemort, much less the way he was stroking beneath her eye as his lips touched hers again.

"Get dressed and go back to school," he said against her mouth, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than her that she needed to go. Finally, he stood up straight and reached for his trousers, and Bellatrix rushed to dress herself. She pulled on her school uniform like she did on mornings when she woke late and missed breakfast and was dashing off to lessons. Her skirt and her shirt and tie and tank and robes were on in moments, and as she slipped on her shoes, she realised Voldemort had dressed almost as efficiently. He was tightening up his tie, an action that seemed strangely erotic to Bellatrix.

"You'll keep me apprised of the activities of our enemies," he told her crisply. "Dumbledore. McGonagall. Even Flitwick; it sounds as though he's thoroughly on Dumbledore's side. The students… Weasley and the Prewetts. The Potter boy, and… yes, your sister."

Bellatrix had made it clear that Andromeda did not share the Black family's commitment to blood purity. She nodded and told the Dark Lord,

"I shall update you whenever I notice anything at all, My Lord."

She wondered suddenly when she might see him again. Their next Hogsmeade trip wasn't until April, for some reason that seemed like a very long while away.

"Go back to school, Bella," he said again, bending to kiss her forehead. Then he sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed and watched her go.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_14 February 1969_

"My Lord." Abraxas Malfoy gave a polite little bow as he came walking into Voldemort's office. It might have been a strange thing to do, owing to the fact that Malfoy owned this manor and the two men had been friends at school decades earlier. But Tom Riddle was long gone, and Abraxas Malfoy was terrified of Lord Voldemort.

"Sit." Voldemort gestured to the chair across his desk and gave Abraxas an expectant look. "Well?"

Abraxas pulled out a thin file folder and put it on Voldemort's desk, sliding it across to his master. Voldemort opened the file folder and read through the few pages inside as Malfoy explained,

"Very little information so far on the Prewetts, My Lord. We have their address in Holbeck, Leeds. We know the father manufactures cauldrons at a factory. The mother stays home. There are three at Hogwarts right now; two more have yet to go off to school. They're pureblood but financially destitute and have no interaction with the Pureblood community. They have several family friends who are Mudbloods."

Voldemort nodded. He thought of all the information Bellatrix had given him, and he told Abraxas, "I'm confident that the girl, Molly, and her brothers Fabian and Gideon are already working with Dumbledore in some capacity. Once they leave school, they'll be full-blown soldiers for him. I have a spy inside the school tracking the students; let's keep a close eye on the parents and determine what their involvement in any movement against me might be. If we have to take them out, we will."

"Yes, My Lord." Abraxas gathered the little folder up and said rather meekly, "If there's nothing else, My Lord, I'm meant to take the wife for dinner, but I can stay if you -"

"Go." Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. Abraxas was his servant, not his friend. He curled up his mouth and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, then."

"Of course, My Lord. And to you, as well. Hmm. Good evening." Abraxas rose and bowed again just before leaving the office. Voldemort locked and warded the door behind him, sighing as he rubbed at his forehead. Sometimes he relished the sycophantic behaviour of his lackeys, the way they tripped over themselves to gain his favour. Other times it was tiresome, and just now he thought he wanted something a little different.

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out his green journal and his black quill pen. It was almost nine o'clock, and he thought Bellatrix would have lessons in the morning. He thought about writing to ask if she was awake. Then he realised it was Friday, and she was almost certainly up. He pursed his lips and opened the journal, scribbling with his quill,

_Do they still throw those ghastly Valentine's Parties in the Slytherin Common Room?_

He waited a moment after the ink faded through the page, drumming his fingers on his desk. Her answer came sooner than he'd expected, and she wrote neatly,

_They do, My Lord. I can hear the music thumping from here._

Voldemort frowned and wrote back,  _Where is 'here'?_

There was a longer pause, and he wondered if perhaps she wasn't in a position to be scribbling into her enchanted journal. But then her words appeared, more crisp and controlled than usual.

_I'm in my dormitory, Master. I wasn't in the mood for a silly dance party, and I was especially not in the mood for the flirtations of boys who've had_ firewhisky _. So I'm working on an essay for Professor Binns instead._

Voldemort smirked a little. Professor Binns, the History of Magic professor, was a ghost whose courses were as dull as it was possible for a lesson to be. Voldemort smiled a little to himself as he wrote,

_I'm not sure which is worse - the unhinged hedonism of a Slytherin House party for Valentine's Day, or the soul-aching dullness of an essay for Binns._

I'm questioning all that myself, My Lord, came the reply, and Voldemort couldn't help but smile more. His fingers went on instinct to the page, to drift over her words before they vanished. He thought about telling her that he was collecting more information on the Prewetts, but she already knew that. They'd discussed it the other day. So instead he acted an utter fool and wrote to her,

_If I was there, Bella, you wouldn't be writing an essay. And you wouldn't be at a stupid party._

He regretted the message the instant he wrote it. He gnawed his lip hard and shut his eyes, feeling abruptly embarrassed. When he opened his eyes, Bellatrix had written back,

_What would I be doing, My Lord?_

His fingers gripped his quill tightly, and for a moment he wrote nothing. He should tell her to get good marks on her History essay, he thought. He should tell her to stop being a killjoy and go to the party with the rest of her House. He should remind her to keep doing her work for him. Instead he wrote in messy script,

_You would be pinned beneath me, begging me for mercy as I pounded you into your sheets._

There was no reply to that, and Voldemort started to panic. After a while, he slammed the journal shut and slid it across his desk, rescuing it from falling at the last moment with a nonverbal, wandless Summoning charm. It shot back into his hand, and he gripped it as hard as he could. It still did not turn black. Voldemort slammed the journal down on his desk, very angry with himself for losing his control with Bellatrix. She made him think and act in ways no other woman - or any person, for that matter - had managed to do. She tempted him. She pleased him.

On one hand, he regretted ever touching her. He should never have even brushed his fingers over her flesh when he'd put his Dark Mark on her. It had all started there. Then there were the stupid journals, the way that her words had sent him careening into an experience he'd never wanted. Four months later, there had been kissing and caressing and, yes, fucking. He'd taken her body; she had taken a part of his soul. It had been against his will. It had been stealing. And, yet, he found himself utterly unable to be cross with her. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the journal had gone black, and he tried very hard not to pick it up. But he did pick it up, and when he opened it, he couldn't breathe.

_My Lord, I confess that I've done something very indecent based on the last message you wrote._

Voldemort shut his eyes, picturing everything that could mean. He bent over his desk and wrote, _Did you touch yourself, you wicked little thing?_

_Yes_ , came the almost immediate answer, followed quickly by, _Are you angry with me, Master?_

_No_ , he responded at once. He gulped hard and added,  _Write your essay tomorrow. Go let the boys flirt with you._

There was a long pause, but then she wrote back,  _As you command, My Lord._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_12 March 1969_

"Cheer up, Buttercup Bella." Gideon Prewett winked as he came marching proudly into the Herbology greenhouse. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and sneered,

"Wasn't funny the first time you said it, Prewett. Isn't funny now."

"You needn't look as though someone's died, though," Lucas Potter pointed out. Then, quickly amending his facial expression, he asked, "No one's died, have they?"

"Of course not. Don't you know Sullen-Trix Black is this gloomy all the time? Even when it's sunny outside. Especially when it's sunny outside." Gideon Prewett and Lucas Potter both laughed then, and Bellatrix said rather impulsively,

"We'll see who's laughing five years from now, won't we?"

Both boys gave her looks of deep unease, and their laughter stopped. They turned round and silently started to assemble their gloves and tools for class. Ophelia Selwyn and Dahlia Greengrass came up alongside Bellatrix at the long desk, and as Dahlia glared at the boys ahead of them, Ophelia asked,

"Gryffindors causing problems again?"

"Always," Bellatrix scowled. She took out her textbook as the frumpy thirty-something Herbology professor, Pomona Sprout, came in through the greenhouse door. Her voice was just as dowdy as her beige clothes and her lumpy body as she said,

"Turn, please, to page sixty-one in your books. And no one touch those plants in front of you! Miss Greengrass, will you read for the class, please?"

Bellatrix eyed the little potted evergreen before her, with its small black berries, and she listened as Dahlia read aloud.

"The Reekberry is a plant whose fruits have enormous use in medicine. Used in everything from burn-healing salves to potions for intestinal troubles, the Reekberry is a highly useful ingredient. Unfortunately, its juice emits a very powerful stench when squeezed, and the stench does not wear off the victim for at least one week, even with No-Odor Cream. To make matters worse, the flesh of the Reekberry is extremely delicate, making it difficult to avoid squeezing them with dragon hide gloves on. It is, therefore, imperative that Reekberries be harvested and jarred with the lightest touch, with no gloves, whilst using a fine pair of tweezers."

"Right," said Professor Sprout, as the Gryffindors and Slytherins muttered among themselves in alarm. "If you get Reekberry juice on yourself, the whole school will know it for a week. So, as per the instructions, you are to use tweezers and be very careful indeed as you put the berries into the jars. I would like two dozen berries from each of you for full marks. If you rupture a berry, you'll receive no credit, but of course that will be the very least of your concerns. You have one hour! Commence."

"Well, this is pleasant," said Ophelia Selwyn in a dark, sarcastic voice. She pulled off the gloves she'd put on and picked up her silver tweezers. Bellatrix did the same, plucking the stem of a Reekberry very carefully and plopping it down into her small glass bottle.

"It's not too bad," she said. She worked quietly for a while, plucking and dropping berries as she listened to Dahlia and Ophelia talk.

"My mother sent me brand-new dress robes," Ophelia was saying. "They're lovely… pale pink with cream roses."

"Ooh…" Dahlia mused. "That'll look lovely for the egg hunt. I heard Abraxas Malfoy's putting anti-Accio spells on all the eggs last year since Lucius and his friends cheated."

"The egg hunt." Bellatrix nearly dropped the Reekberry she had in her tweezers. She grinned suddenly and turned to the other Slytherin girls. "I'd nearly forgotten about Easter. We're going home for a week!"

"Yes…" Dahlia and Ophelia looked at one another with strange looks in their eyes, and Dahlia said, "It's not for almost three more weeks, but… had you really forgotten?"

"I had, with everything going on," Bellatrix admitted. She wondered absently why the Dark Lord hadn't mentioned Easter to her in their correspondence. Perhaps, she thought, twenty-five years earlier, Hogwarts students hadn't gotten a week off for Easter like they did now. Or perhaps he hadn't taken advantage of the chance to go home. She knew almost nothing about his childhood, about his life before Lord Voldemort, but only about half the current students went home for the Easter holiday.

"Imagine Sullen-Trix Black wearing a dainty Easter bonnet," snorted Gideon Prewett, peering over his shoulder and smirking at her. Beside him, Lucas Potter batted his friend's arm playfully and muttered,

"Stop goading her, or she'll make your eyes bleed like she did to Avery."

Bellatrix was filled with an abrupt sense of rage, and her fingers shook on her tweezers. She stared down at the Reekberry in her hand and then without thinking, she flung it as hard as she could toward Gideon Prewett. The berry soared from her tweezers and hit his ginger hair square in the back. The textbook hadn't been kidding about the berries' delicate skins; this one shattered open and sent inky black juice all over Gideon Prewett's hair.

Beside Bellatrix, Dahlia and Ophelia gasped and then giggled madly as they covered their mouths. A heavy stench came over the entire greenhouse then, and there was a moment of sheer chaos as everyone tried to figure out where the skunky smell was coming from. Professor Sprout came and ushered Gideon Prewett out of the greenhouse, telling him to wait outside. As the din inside the greenhouse continued, Professor Sprout angrily stormed up to the table of the three Slytherin girls.

"That berry burst on the back of Mr Prewett's head," she said, her doughy face scarlet with anger. "Which of you girls threw it at him?"

None of the three girls said anything at all, and Bellatrix was very grateful then for the friendship she had with Dahlia and Ophelia. She was also glad they were at the back of the greenhouse with no other witnesses to the deed. But Lucas Potter held his nose and said roughly,

"Professor Sprout, do you really have to wonder who did it? It was Bellatrix! She was angry with him! Just a moment before she threw the berry, Gideon and I were teasing her." His pale cheeks went white then, and he added, "What I mean is, we were talking about Easter bonnets, and Bellatrix got upset… is all."

Professor Sprout threw her hands up. "Silent witnesses. Boys goading girls about Easter bonnets. Someone throwing a reekberry. Fifteen points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor. I'm sure Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw will thank you. My goodness. Finish harvesting your berries so I can fumigate in here."

"Yes, Professor," said Dahlia, and Ophelia's mouth quirked up a little as she plucked another reekberry from her plant. She gave Bellatrix a furtive grin and shook her head once Professor Sprout had walked away.

"Always a troublemaker, aren't you, Bella?"

"Just can't help myself. There. Twenty-four." Bellatrix corked her little bottle and held it up. "Professor Sprout? I believe I've earned full marks."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_12 March 1969_

_My Lord, I threw a reekberry at Gideon Prewett today._

Lord Voldemort paced in front of the fireplace in his private chambers and laughed aloud. He was glad he was alone, for he couldn't control the smile that crossed his face when he read Bellatrix's message. He needed after today, after learning that Abraxas Malfoy's cousin Larcinius had been killed in a duel in Scotland.

_So much for staying out of trouble_ , Voldemort wrote back, propping his book in his hand as he paced. Soon enough, more words from Bellatrix appeared.

_He and Potter were mocking me, she wrote. Saying I'd look foolish at the Malfoy Easter Egg Hunt in an Easter bonnet (which I would never wear) and calling me Sullen-Trix._

Voldemort rolled his eyes and scratched back,  _The stupid nickname should be utterly ignored. It's childish wordplay, and not even clever. And I know better than anyone that you are not sullen. Not when you are smiling up at me after I've kissed you. In any case, what is all this about an Easter Egg Hunt? It sounds dreadful._

There was a very long pause, and Voldemort let his steps hesitate. He frowned. He knew that Abraxas' son Lucius would be coming home for Easter, but he'd forgotten that so many Hogwarts students did so. It was not a holiday of note for him. His heart suddenly accelerated a little, and that only got worse when Bellatrix's handwriting appeared again.

_I shall be home from the third until the tenth of April, My Lord. Each year, the Malfoy family hosts an Easter get-together including an egg hunt in the gardens at the Manor._

She was confused about why he didn't know about it. He didn't need anything beyond the written word to tell that. He could hardly blame her. He was living in Malfoy Manor; he'd been friends with Abraxas for years. And he actually had known about the Easter party, but he'd never attended, and recent events had hardly put an egg hunt on his priorities list. He stood before the empty fireplace and wrote back.

_Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. I suppose I didn't_   _realize you'd be coming home. I won't be out hunting eggs, but I should like to see you just the same._

That sounded cloying and desperate, he thought at once. It did not sound like communications between a servant and her master, between a Dark Lord and a schoolgirl. He sighed and added,

_You'd best not wear any silly bonnets, Bella._

_Of course not, Master,_  came the playful and almost immediate reply.  _I promise to be dressed in solemn black as always._

He tried to imagine her in a pale frilly dress, and he chuckled a little at the ludicrous thought. Of course she'd be in black. She was always in black when she wasn't in her school uniform. Voldemort moved over to his desk and set his journal down, carefully considering whether or not to write the words that were coming over his mind. Finally he scrawled,

_If you're not careful, you'll be bent over the desk in my office whilst everyone else is outside hunting eggs in the gardens, and you won't be wearing anything at all._

There was a pause after the ink faded away, just enough that Voldemort thought perhaps he'd gone too far. But then he realised there was no such thing anymore as 'too far' with Bellatrix, for her response came back clear and steady-handed.

_That sounds perfectly festive, My Lord._

He smiled a bit and wrote,  _Were you punished terribly for throwing the reekberry at Gideon Prewett?_

_No,_ she responded quickly, and then more words appeared in little batches _. Poor Professor Sprout couldn't figure out if the boys were more at fault for taunting me or if I was more at fault for throwing the berry. Actually, thanks to the other Slytherin girls, Professor Sprout couldn't even really be sure I'd been the one to throw the reekberry. She took points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin to punish the whole lot of us. No detentions. But what none of them realise, My Lord_ , _is that someday I'm going to throw something a lot more damaging than a reekberry at Gideon Prewett._

Voldemort's skin tingled at that, at the way she spoke so willingly of torture and killing. His heart quickened a little as he glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly midnight.

_My wicked little thing. Get some sleep and stay out of trouble._

_Goodnight, My Lord_ , she wrote after another moment. Voldemort brushed his fingers over her words as they disappeared, and he immediately wrote with a bit of a flourish,

_Goodnight, Bella._

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_4 April 1969_

"Merlin's Beard. The girl wears purple." Ophelia Selwyn took a sip of her champagne and held out her hand to Dahlia Greengrass. "That'll be three Galleons, please."

"What? You've placed a bet on what I'd wear?" Bellatrix was indignant as she marched up to her friends. She felt a big enough fool as it was; she didn't need the other girls making it worse. As Dahlia pulled a few Galleons from her purse, she admitted,

"I said you'd wear black no matter what. Ophelia insisted that your mother was going to wind up forcing you into a spring colour."

"Well, Ophelia was right," Bellatrix grumbled. She glanced down at herself and asked, "How bad does it look?"

"It looks… really pretty, Bella." Ophelia seemed almost jealous as she surveyed Bellatrix's outfit. It was a dress of lilac silk chiffon with sheer sleeves and the slightest hint of glimmer in the fabric. It was awfully short, as was the new style, but Bellatrix had white knee-length boots on, along with a chunky silver serpent necklace. She'd wholeheartedly refused to wear a hat of any kind, but her curls had been straightened with Magic and pulled up atop her head in a tight ponytail. She had thick black eyeliner and pale lipstick on, and even she had to admit that she looked, if nothing else, profoundly stylish.

"Bellatrix," said a breathless voice from beside her, and she turned to see that Rodolphus Lestrange had come up. He was tall and handsome in his green robes embroidered with gold. Bellatrix gave him a little smile and acknowledged,

"Hello, Rodolphus."

"I almost didn't recognise you," he said plainly, and Bellatrix frowned a bit. Ophelia and Dahlia gave one another a meaningful look, and Ophelia said,

"We're off to cheat a bit and see if we find any eggs ahead of time. Good seeing you, Rodolphus."

"And you," he nodded to the girls. He turned his smile back to Bellatrix and mused, "You look marvelous, Miss Black."

"Thank you," Bellatrix said quietly. She tried to think of something worthwhile to say as she studied Rodolphus' sharp face and his caramel eyes. Finally she asked, "How's work at the Ministry?"

"Dull," Rodolphus laughed. "But I've only just started recently in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I think there's a fair bit of upward mobility for me, but for now I'm doing quality control on Golden Snitches. Checking for enchantments, you know."

"Ah." That was not at all interesting to Bellatrix, but she forced a little smile and tried to realise how friendly Rodolphus was being. It wouldn't be the worst thing in all the world, she thought, if perhaps she were matched up with him later on. She glanced around the gardens at the witches in their elaborate hats and their classy spring attire. She listened to the hired string quartet, enchanted instruments playing upbeat music without musicians. She finally turned her attention back to Rodolphus and said,

"I can't wait to be finished with Hogwarts. It's just… well, I'm sure you remember. It's rather intolerable."

"Do you mean to work for the Ministry afterward?" Rodolphus asked, and Bellatrix tipped her head, wondering how to tell him that she meant to be a soldier for the Dark Lord. Fortunately, she was saved the labour of explaining herself, for the Dark Lord himself walked up to the conversation. He was intimidating in his flowing black linen robes, and the moment he stepped up, Bellatrix felt a surge of dizzy awe go through her. She dipped at once into a little curtsy that felt awkward in her white boots and short dress.

"Lestrange," Voldemort acknowledged, and the familiarity with which Rodolphus bowed his head told Bellatrix everything she needed to know. Rodolphus was already working for Voldemort. She smiled a little at that thought, and she kept the smile on as Voldemort said, "Lestrange, I hate to interrupt, but if you could give me a moment alone with Miss Black."

It wasn't a question, and Rodolphus looked just as impressed as Bellatrix felt. He nodded quickly and said to Bellatrix,

"Very good seeing you, Bellatrix. Happy Easter."

"Happy Easter, Rodolphus." Bellatrix sighed as Rodolphus walked away, and as Voldemort flicked his eyes up and down her form, she suspected she knew was he was going to say.

"You're in purple." His eyebrow went up, and Bellatrix laughed nervously as she admitted,

"My mother told me I looked funereal in the dress I'd planned. I know I promised I'd be in black. I apologise; I didn't mean to be dishonest with you, My Lord."

"No, of course not," he smirked. His gaze settled on her white boots, and as he sipped from his champagne, he did say, "The footwear's a bit odd."

Bellatrix couldn't help but chuckle at her master's apparent interest in her fashion. She glanced up to the place where she knew his office was, and he murmured,

"You know, I was just thinking the same thing."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, and she shook her head. "I wasn't -"

"Yes, you were," he nodded. He leaned down close to her, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispered, "I've been staring at you across these gardens for the past twenty minutes, Bella; I won't wait any longer. Come inside with me. Now."

"Yes, My Lord," she breathed, feeling lightheaded as he stood up. She saw from a few dozen yards away hot Ophelia and Dahlia were staring, both of them looking utterly dumbstruck by the way the mighty Lord Voldemort was being so familiar with their friend. Bellatrix gave them an almost apologetic look, and as the Dark Lord whirled around and walked quickly into Malfoy Manor, she scrambled to follow him.

* * *

She tasted like strawberries and cream. He had her slammed up against a bookshelf in his office, and on her lips he tasted dessert. He moaned against her, glad he'd warded the room with a soundproofing spell. Voldemort yanked himself away from Bellatrix and dragged her by the wrist over to the wide window. He pulled her back against his body, letting his erection grind against the small of her back. She gasped, and he knew that she was worried someone would see them.

"The glass on this window is charmed to be reflective from the outside," Voldemort murmured into her ear. "A security measure. Can't have someone peering into the office of the Dark Lord himself, can we?"

"I suppose not, Master." Bellatrix struggled audibly to breath as Voldemort reached around her and plunged his left hand into the neckline of her purple dress. He grasped hard at her breast, dragging his thumb over her nipple. He pushed aside her long ponytail - the only time he'd ever seen her hair straight - and he latched his mouth hard onto her neck. His right hand slithered up her thigh, and he murmured against her skin,

"Do you see your father down there, Bella? Eating pastries on the lawn? What do you suppose he'd think of his eldest daughter with an older man's hand up her skirt."

"I don't know," Bellatrix whispered, reaching desperately over her shoulder to grab hold of his sleeve. Voldemort let the fingers of his right hand go further up her leg, pushing aside her knickers and feeling that she was already wet for him. He groaned against her neck and squeezed her breast harder. Bellatrix moaned like a whore when he twisted two fingers into her and used his thumb to massage her clit.

"What about your friends from school?" Voldemort demanded, kissing the skin below her ear and feeling his cock ache for attention. He pulled the lobe of Bellatrix's ear between his teeth and reminded her, "They can't see you. Would they be jealous if they could?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, grinding her backside against the lump in Voldemort's trousers as her breath hitched. He pumped and hooked his fingers, flicked his thumb, and felt his entire being come alive for her.

"You like this, don't you, my wicked little thing?" he whispered, hearing the way his own breathing had gone unsteady. He pushed harder with his thumb, squeezed and pawed at her breast, and he knew she was about to snap as he asked again, "You like when your Master puts his hands on you, don't you, Bella?"

"More than anything," she gasped, her back arching as she threw her head back and came. The walls of her womanhood clenched around Voldemort's fingers, and her breast heaved unevenly in his other hand. He whirled her around and kissed her through it, shoving his tongue into her mouth and sucking hard on her lip as her climax abated. She threw her arms up around his shoulders and moaned against his mouth, sending a shockwave of need straight through him. He'd never had a woman take him in his mouth, but that was what he wanted. And he wanted it right now.

"Get down on your knees," he ordered her, and Bellatrix obeyed at once. As she sank down, Voldemort unbuttoned his dress black trousers and pushed aside his linen outer robe. He pulled himself out, stroking himself and watching as Bellatrix's eyes went rounder than ever. He stared out the window for a moment, amused by the way no one could see how Bellatrix was on his knees for him. He smirked down at them all, at the brainless idiots more concerned with finding eggs than with what really mattered.

Then he gasped, for Bellatrix had boldly taken him in her hand. He stared down in shock as her fingers wrapped around his length, and her lips trembled as she whispered,

"I'm sorry. I wanted… I couldn't help it."

"Oh, Bella." Voldemort gulped hard and licked his lip. "Put it in your mouth. No teeth."

"Thank you, Master." Bellatrix seemed at once nervous and delighted as she wet her own lips and pushed the tip of Voldemort's cock between them. His knees buckled and he reached desperately for the desk behind him. She was wet and warm around him, just like when he'd been inside of her. Her mouth wasn't as tight as her quim, but that was more than made up for by the way her tongue lathed over his skin, by the way she suckled at him as if he were the most delicious thing on Earth. She bravely pulled him toward her throat but gagged a little, and he stroked at her hair as he panted,

"Slowly, little thing… neither of us has standards for this, do we?"

She licked up the bottom of his length and sucked on his tip, and Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut as he reached for his wand. He'd become so aroused from touching her, and this felt so good, that he knew he had only a moment before he finished. He aimed his wand down at himself and thought determinedly,  _Dulcis_. If he was going to spill himself in her mouth, he'd at least make it taste good for her.

Bellatrix had started to pump her hand down his slick shaft, trailing her mouth behind her fingers and then pulling back up with just the right amount of suction. Voldemort felt everything pull into a tight knot, and he squeezed his eyes closed as he set his wand down and moved his shaking hands to Bellatrix's head. He forced his eyes open, wanting to watch what she did as his seed pumped into her mouth. She groaned and drank it all down, letting a little bit of the fluid linger on her bottom lip as she pulled away from him. She used her thumb to brush it off her lip, and she stared up at Voldemort as she licked it from her thumb.

"Oh, Bella," he mumbled again, taking her by the elbow and helping her off her knees. He tucked himself away and studied her face, seeing a change in her features. It was as if she'd grown up a little bit more today, as if what he'd down to her in this office had stolen a little bit of her girlishness. There was something beautifully hard in her features as she whispered,

"Thank you, My Lord."

He brushed his thumb under her eye and said the first thing that came to his mind. "When you leave school, you'll be my soldier full-time."

She smiled, her eyes welling a little as she nodded. "That's all I could ever beg for."

"Well, there's more." Voldemort chewed on his lip and let his fingers go over Bellatrix's jaw and down her neck. "You know why I've never been with a woman before you, in forty-two years of living. None have been worthy of my attention; all have threatened to distract me from my goals. You, Bella, are very much the opposite. I enjoy you.I enjoy your servitude. I enjoy writing to you. I enjoy touching and kissing and taking you. And so I mean to have you as my own for as long as I see fit. You will not marry after school; no plans will be made for such a thing. I will not be the 'other man,' and I have no plans to stop… this."

He knew he'd told her at the Doxy's Nest a few months earlier that this meant nothing, but that was a lie, and they both knew it. A single tear boiled over Bellatrix's eyelid, taking a bit of her thick eyeliner with it. She hurried to clean herself up with her wand, and once she'd gotten ahold of herself, she nodded and told Voldemort something she'd said before.

"I belong to the Dark Lord, wholly and completely. I always will. Do with me whatever you will, for as long as you will it, Master."

He quirked up half his mouth and glanced out the window. "They're going to be hunting for eggs any moment now. It wouldn't do for you to be missing. Go, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord," she nodded. She started to walk toward the door, but Voldemort snatched her wrist and said firmly,

"You are home for another week. I require time from you each day until you go back to school. Am I understood?"

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, her eyes wide. "Shall I… shall I just wait for you to write me in the journals with the where and when?"

"Yes. That will do fine. Now go downstairs."

He watched when she went out the front doors as her female school friends dashed over to her and began talking frantically. They'd be asking her where she'd gone with Lord Voldemort, he knew. And she would be intelligent enough to make something up about mundane work. She'd focus on her conversation with Rodolphus, and then she'd go hunting for eggs with the girls. She'd do all that because she wasn't stupid - very much the opposite - and because she'd proven herself to be expertly discreet these last six months.

Voldemort stared out the window for the next hour, glad once again that no one could see him. He shut his eyes and shook his head, knowing he'd lost control of himself for good when it came to his wicked little thing.

* * *

_Black Family Residence_

_Kensington, London_

_5 April 1969_

_Lovely weather we're having._

Bellatrix smirked at the message that had appeared in her journal. She and her parents and sisters were scattered throughout their capacious townhome. Narcissa and Andromeda were downstairs playing wizard's chess. Her mother Druella was having tea with her father and reading in the parlour. And Bellatrix was in the library upstairs, scribbling back and forth with the Dark Lord himself.

_I don't suppose it could be raining any harder if there was a hurricane,_  she wrote. She glanced out the window at the way the rain was falling in mighty grey sheets. She'd cracked one of the windows open just enough to hear the pounding of the rain, and she listened to it now as she awaited a response in her journal. When she glanced down, the Dark Lord had written,

_I suppose I will be sopping wet when I Apparate to your street, then. I'd like you to be waiting by the door in five minutes' time so I'm not stranded out in the rain._

She smiled a little at that, for she knew he was perfectly capable of keeping himself dry in the ocean if he so chose. But just the same, she scribbled quickly,

_I'll be there._

She shoved her journal and her quill into her rucksack and pattered down the wooden staircase. Her parents were sitting in the parlour, quietly ignoring one another for their books, and Bellatrix said quite clearly,

"The Dark Lord himself will be here in five minutes."

Druella Black's teacup clattered on the saucer as she set it down. Bellatrix smoothly moved toward the front door, and both of her parents came dashing from the parlour.

"How do you know he's coming?" demanded Druella. Both Bellatrix and Cygnus Black worked directly for Voldemort, and Druella knew that, but she did not know about the journals. Bellatrix shrugged and said truthfully,

"I'm not at liberty to divulge the method of communication, Mother. Less than five minutes now, actually."

"Marley!" Druella screamed, and the family's emaciated House Elf appeared with a crack. Druella pointed to the parlour and barked, "I want this place spotless in three minutes, Marley. Everywhere. Not a speck of dust. Go!"

"Yes, Madam." Marley quickly started casting cleansing and tidying spells, though the house was already clean. Bellatrix couldn't help but smirk to herself a little as she remembered the dusty, dingy Doxy's Nest room where Voldemort had taken her virginity. The Black residence was more than clean enough, she knew.

"I just spoke with the Dark Lord yesterday regarding financial matters," said Cygnus, who was effectively the lead accountant in Voldemort's movement. He shrugged and wondered, "What could he need of us on a day with such awful weather? I hope it's nothing serious."

"No idea, Father," Bellatrix shrugged. She sighed and faced the door, drumming her fingers on her legs as she waited. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents exchange slightly worried looks, but there was no sound except for the ticking of the grandfather clock. Then, all of a sudden, four solid knocks came ringing through the front door, and Bellatrix yanked it open.

He hadn't kept himself dry. He dragged his fingers through his wet dark hair as he stepped over the threshold, and Bellatrix smiled up at how handsome he looked doing that. Voldemort flashed her a wink so quickly that Bellatrix almost missed it, but then he turned to her parents, who bowed their heads respectfully.

"My Lord," said Druella, as Bellatrix shut the door behind him, "Welcome to our home. May I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"No. Thank you, Madam Black. Cygnus… I trust everyone's been well in the twenty-four hours since I saw you all last." Voldemort threw up an eyebrow, and Druella forced an awkward little laugh. The Dark Lord didn't wait for an answer. He turned to Bellatrix and said matter-of-factly, "I need to speak with you… in private."

Druella and Cygnus seemed more than a little surprised at that, but Bellatrix said confidently, "Will the library upstairs do?"

"It will." Voldemort nodded and gestured toward the staircase so that Bellatrix would lead the way. She did, flashing an apologetic look over her shoulder to her awestruck parents. She opened the door to the library and led Voldemort inside, and as he shut the door, she mused,

"My Lord, you and I do seem to find a way of winding up in libraries, don't -"

He cut her off by whirling her around and seizing her face. He crushed her mouth so hard with hers that Bellatrix squealed with shock. Her own hands went on instinct to the front of Voldemort's robes as he dragged her lip between his teeth. She squeezed at the damp wool covering his chest and moaned softly into his powerful kiss. He wrenched his mouth from hers and moved it to her neck, shushing her gently when she moaned again. He finally stood up, dragging the inside of his wrist over his lips, and he declared,

"I can't stay long. I've a hundred things to do today. But you're leaving in less than a week, so…"

"There's a Hogsmeade trip at the end of the month, My Lord," Bellatrix informed him, and he chuckled a bit. He surprised her then by yawning into the elbow of his robe, shaking his head vehemently and mumbling,

"Should've taken more Wideye Potion, I suppose. Two days with no sleep."

"Is everything all right, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked worriedly, and he flashed her a reassuring little look.

"After I left the Malfoys' stupid little soiree, I went up to Edinburgh. I lost a good wizard there not so long ago. So I went to…"

"To exact revenge?" Bellatrix asked, knowing she sounded a bloodthirsty monster and not caring. Voldemort smiled crookedly at her and nodded.

"Yes," he said finally. "To exact revenge. Do you know, Bella, I rather look forward to seeing you in battle. I think you'll be quite a thing to behold when your shackles are removed."

He tucked her curls behind her ear and dragged his fingers over her jaw. Then he took her hand in his and began stroking his thumb along hers. His eyes were quite serious as he asked,

"Have you ever even seen a Cruciatus Curse cast, Bella?"

"Not in person, My Lord," she admitted, feeling embarrassed for some reason. He looked down at their hands, at the place where his fingers dusted over hers, and he said quietly,

"You have to really mean it, or else the curse doesn't truly take. If you cast it and you mean it, then it manifests as a scarlet web of light that snares around the victim."

Bellatrix shivered at the thought of that. She knew, intellectually, what happened with a Cruciatus Curse, but hearing him tell it like this was making her heart race. He tipped his head and raised his eyes to hers, his hand pushing back her sleeve a little so that his touch sent a tingling sensation through her Dark Mark.

"The victim twitches and convulses and screams. First they scream for mercy, then for their mothers, then for nothing at all as words escape them. Soon enough they're quiet. And there's no blood. No scratches, no bruises. The damage is profound but invisible. You can see it in the eyes. Their eyes take on a blank, empty look after long enough. Are you frightened yet, Bellatrix?"

"No, Master," she said truthfully. Voldemort wrapped his hand around her forearm, around the place where he'd marked her, and he said seriously,

"I look forward to the day when you cast that spell for me, Bella. You'll be beautifully terrifying, won't you?"

"I shall try, My Lord," Bellatrix said truthfully. He took her face in his hands again and brushed his lips against hers, whispering,

"Let me in that mind of yours. Legilimens."

Bellatrix gasped as her head was invaded, but her master cushioned her against the crashing feeling by putting one hand at the small of her back and the other between her shoulder blades. He pulled her close and maintained eye contact as vivid memories whizzed rapidly through Bellatrix's consciousness. Suddenly she was watching the scene where she hurled the reekberry at Gideon Prewett after he and the Potter boy had mocked her. She was watching Tarquin Avery's eyes bleed after he'd dared to touch her. She was watching Amelia Bones fall and smack her head on a statue; Bellatrix had tripped the girl in the corridor after Amelia had asked if Bellatrix was a vampire. She was watching Narcissa shriek about the black hair she couldn't make blonde again. Bellatrix had hexed her the previous summer after Narcissa had noted her belief that blonde hair was far more appealing than black hair.

Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, and his hand moved from her shoulders to her cheek. He kept her close as he whispered,

"You like revenge. You like to hurt people."

Bellatrix said nothing. Her mind had spoken for itself on all that. Voldemort kissed Bellatrix very deeply then, so deeply that she could practically feel his magic flowing into her body. When at last he pulled back, leaving Bellatrix dizzy and hungry, he said,

"I have to leave. I've a meeting in twenty minutes in Wales. Walk me downstairs and show me out, and don't act surprised."

"Surprised by what, Master?" Bellatrix asked hesitantly. He gave her a mischievous little look and shrugged.

"You'll see."

Bellatrix felt nervous as she led the Dark Lord back down the stairs. Her parents, who had been pretending to read and drink tea in the parlour, both came rushing to the foyer.

"My Lord, it was very good to see you again," simpered Druella Black, and Cygnus said confidently,

"I'll continue working on the Shacklebolts, My Lord."

"Yes. Very good." Voldemort nodded but barely gave the elder Blacks any attention. He shocked Bellatrix then by taking her jaw confidently in his hand and bending to press her lips to hers.

"Tomorrow at Malfoy Manor, then, Bella," he said, as though they'd discussed the matter. "Seven-thirty in the evening. Be prompt, will you?"

"I try never to be late, My Lord," Bellatrix said, remembering that he'd told her not to act surprised. He turned up half his mouth and nodded.

"You've never been late yet. Good day, then." He nodded politely to Druella and Cygnus, and he opened the door himself to step out into the rain. When the door shut behind him, Bellatrix's heart was beating so quickly she thought it might flop straight out of her chest onto the floor.

Cygnus just stared, open-mouthed with surprise at the way the Dark Lord had kissed his daughter in front of him. Druella's dark eyes flicked from Bellatrix to the door and back again.

"Is he… are you…"

"His most loyal servant?" Bellatrix finished, raising her eyebrows as if daring her parents to seek more information. "Yes. I am. You can go back to your tea, Mummy; he won't be back the rest of the day."

Without another word, she turned and pattered back up the stairs and into the library. She wrenched her journal out of her rucksack and flung her journal open, scribbling furiously,

_With all due respect, My Lord, may I ask what the blazes I'm meant to do now that my parents know about… this?_

Her answer took nearly an hour to receive, during which time Bellatrix tried to focus on a book about unicorn blood. He was busy, she knew, and so she tried not to be anxious about the slow response. When the journal flushed black again on the sofa beside her, she opened it and read,

_I am in no mood to pretend or keep you in the shadows for anyone's benefit. It can and should be known and accepted that you belong to the Dark Lord. You've said it yourself; is it not true?_

_Of_ course _it is true, Master_ , Bellatrix wrote immediately, and his neatly scripted response came ten minutes later.

_Then let everyone know it. Tomorrow at seven-thirty at Malfoy Manor. Wear something that's easy for me to take off; you'll be coming to my personal quarters._

Bellatrix was suddenly devoid of breath. She shut her eyes and thought of how he'd described the Cruciatus Curse to her, the way he'd caressed and kissed her and told her she would be a good soldier for him. She gulped hard and wrote,

_I shall be prompt, My Lord._

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_8 April 1969_

"You're leaving for school the day after tomorrow, then?" Voldemort asked briskly, moving through the corridors of Malfoy Manor as Bellatrix pattered behind him.

"That's right, My Lord," she answered.

He hadn't been able to see her on Easter Sunday, after all, because he'd had to stay in Wales and do some investigating about the Llewelyn witch who was a thorn in his side at the Ministry. So he hadn't seen Bellatrix since that day at her parents' house, and he was irritated. He'd intended on touching her every day that she was home, but his insane work schedule had plotted against him.

Now he had her in the manor, walking quickly upstairs to the expansive suite of rooms he was using as his base. He opened the door to his private drawing room, and Bellatrix scurried inside. He shut the door behind her and warded it, flicking his wand at the lamps on the walls of the suite. He gestured to the dark-paneled dining nook and said flatly,

"I've ordered dinner to be sent up. Should be here any moment. I hope you like steak."

"I do, My Lord," Bellatrix said with a bit of awe in her voice. She peered through a doorway, her cheeks going pink once she realised it was his blue-and-grey, elaborately appointed bedroom. She chewed her lip for a moment, and Voldemort announced,

"I've already sent an owl to your parents telling them you won't be back tonight."

"I won't?" Bellatrix looked very surprised, and he shook his head as he informed her, "I wish for you to stay the night. It's the first night in ages that I'll get to sleep uninterrupted in that bed, and I do not mean to do so alone."

"Oh." Bellatrix smiled a little at him, and he wondered why she was being so very shy tonight. She was usually more playful, more outgoing than this, and he shook his head as he asked,

"What's the matter?"

"It's nothing, My Lord," she said, and he scowled as he stepped closer to her.

"Do not lie to me. Tell me, or I'll figure it out in your mind. Something's bothering you. What is it?"

Bellatrix stared at him for a moment and then finally said, "Rodolphus Lestrange came to my parents' house today, My Lord. He… had tea. We played some wizard's chess. We talked for a long while."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He forced himself to shrug and demand, "Why should I care if Rodolphus Lestrange came over for a playdate?"

"He asked me as he was leaving if he could visit me a few times over the summer, My Lord," Bellatrix said delicately, and Voldemort felt his heart accelerate as he nodded.

"He's courting you. It isn't his fault; I have not made it clear to him that he's to stay away. I shall do so promptly. He is a good servant, and so are you. We wouldn't want anyone labouring under delusions."

Bellatrix looked very relieved, and she sighed a bit as she said, "I told my parents that I wasn't going to marry any time soon after school. They argued with me about it."

"Then I shall speak with them, too," Voldemort said plainly. "You are mine, and I shall make that clear to anyone who needs it explained."

He turned his attention to the dining nook, where plates of food and glasses of wine had appeared. He gestured to the table, and Bellatrix followed him. She let him send her chair sliding backward with a flick of his fingers, and when she sat, he pulled her up to the table. She seemed to like that, and he teased her,

"The things I could do to you without a wand, Bella, are almost endless."

Her cheeks went utterly scarlet then, and she nearly dropped the fork and steak knife she'd picked up. Voldemort smirked, feeling very amused indeed. He aimed his fingers at her beneath the table, summoned up all of his magic, and thought very clearly _, Vibratio_.

He knew he'd successfully shot a powerful vibration toward her beneath the table, for she squirmed and set down her cutlery. He did it again, and again and again until Bellatrix was gripping the edge of the table and moaning like a whore. She was close, he knew. So close to finishing right there in her chair. But he pulled his hand up and picked up his own knife and fork. He set to cutting his steak as Bellatrix panted and gave him a look that was dangerously like a glare.

"That… wasn't very nice," she protested, but he shrugged as he washed down his bite of steak with wine.

"I have never professed to be a 'nice' man, Bella."

She groaned with frustration and picked up her fork and knife. She breathed through clenched teeth and Voldemort laughed a little as he took another bite of steak. He sipped his wine and declared,

"Mmm. Steak's good. You should try it."

Bellatrix started sawing at her steak and said in a surly little voice, "I'd much rather have had the end of… that… instead of a steak."

Voldemort set down his cutlery and studied Bellatrix's pretty face. He sighed and decided, as he so often did with her, to say what was on his mind. He folded his hands on the table as she looked at him curiously, and he said, "Do you know, Bella, that I have never really 'joked' with anybody else? You are the only human with whom I have ever felt comfortable being casual. Indeed, I think it's fair to say that you make me feel very comfortable. All the time. Too comfortable, probably, but there's no help for that now, I don't think."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and for a long moment she stared at him as if he were a glittering diamond. She finally said in a dreamy sort of tone,

"I am in love with you, My Lord."

Her face immediately turned to an expression of terror, and now it was Voldemort's turn to feel his lips part helplessly. He blinked quickly a few times as Bellatrix brought her napkin up to her face and made a tortured sound. She started breathing quickly, and her muffled voice said,

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to… I… Oh, I'm sorry, Master."

"Stop. Stop apologising." Voldemort frowned, contemplating the significance of what Bellatrix had said. On the one hand, he couldn't be entirely surprised that she would feel love for him after the months they'd spent communicating and being physical with him. On the other hand, he had never expected anyone to actually love him, and the shock to his system was more than a little dramatic. He waited until Bellatrix lowered her napkin, her eyes rimmed red with horrified tears, and he shook his head as he told her,

"That is not… I could never return such a sentiment. You understand?"

"Oh, I know," Bellatrix said quickly. Then, looking more frightened than ever, she put her hands up and amended, "Not that I think you are incapable of such a thing, My Lord, but it's just that… well, it's all on my end, and I know that. It's been impossible, I'm afraid, over the last six months to keep my adoration for you limited to that which a servant feels for her master. I… I have fallen in love with you, and it's my fault, but…"

She trailed off then, and Voldemort gulped hard as he looked down at his folded hands. "Eat a few bites," he murmured. "You'll regret it if you don't, once your stomach is crying with hunger."

He glanced up to see her shoveling mashed potato into her mouth and guzzling her wine so quickly that he worried she'd be sick. She shut her eyes as she set her fork down, and she held her forehead as if she had an awful headache.

"You needn't be afraid of my reaction, Bella," Voldemort said lightly. "You know I care for you far more than is prudent of me to do. Let us move on."

"Will you Obliviate me?" she asked then, and when he frowned deeply at her, she clarified, "I am humiliated, My Lord, by my own self-control. I wish to be the person you want me to be with you. Please, please, Master, will you erase the memory of me telling you? Please."

"No." He shook his head, feeling a bit odd as he told her, "I would remember, and that… no. Perhaps you would feel better after a hot shower. Go on; the bathroom's just through the bedroom."

Bellatrix seemed to interpret that as some sort of banishment, and as she rose from the table, she bowed her head for a long moment and murmured again,

"I'm so sorry, My Lord."

He said nothing as she made her way into the bathroom. She shut the door quietly and he poked at his steak with his knife, thinking about the way she made him feel. She made him laugh with some of her written messages. She made his body come alive. She made him comfortable and anxious all at once. She made him feel both weak and powerful. She was like a freight train hurtling out of control through his life; he couldn't have stopped her if he tried. She was only ever supposed to be his enthusiastic little spy at Hogwarts. It was never supposed to turn into… this.

But as he Vanished all their food and strode quickly toward the bathroom, unbuttoning his robes, he realised he wouldn't do it over differently even if he had the chance.

* * *

"Bella."

She yelped and jumped a little at the sound of his voice. She rubbed her hand on the fogged-up glass door and felt her eyes go wide as she realised he was naked and walking toward the black-tiled shower. He opened the door and stepped inside without any warning, and he wordlessly took the bar of soap Bellatrix had just finished using from its nook. She watched in silence as the Dark Lord washed his legs and his arms, his toned chest and belly and what lay beneath that. She averted her eyes, feeling more embarrassed than ever, but he commanded her,

"Look at me."

She did, for she would never disobey him. He put the soap back onto its shelf and rinsed himself off, and then he swept Bella near him. Warm water poured over the both of them as he put one hand to the small of her back and the other on her cheek. He lowered his face and kissed her, tasting like wine and steak and his familiar flavour. His lips were slow and gentle, and Bellatrix wanted to cry all over again from how tender he was being.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wondering how many times she'd have to say it before she felt right again. He shushed her and touched his forehead to hers as he said quietly,

"My pretty little thing. My intelligent little thing. My wicked little thing. How fearsome you will be in battle for me. How beautiful you'll look in the morning when you wake up beside me in my bed."

He kissed her again, and this time he had to help support Bellatrix as her knees gave out a little. He shut the water off behind her and whispered,

" _Sicco Duo_."

Bellatrix gasped a little at the wandless magic, which seemed so effortless for him to perform. Her hair poofed up into wholly untamed curls, and her body felt warm and dry at once. Voldemort seized her hand and pushed the shower door open, pulling her out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He said nothing and did not release her as he tossed throw pillows onto the ground and peeled back the blankets.

"I trust you put a contraceptive spell on yourself before you came here," he said matter-of-factly as he climbed up onto the bed, and Bellatrix nodded with disbelief.

"I did, My Lord," she said, but she was still in complete shock that he was taking her to his bed. She'd revealed the depth of her devotion to him, the fact that she loved him romantically, not just because she served him. And still he spoke of her being pretty and intelligent and wicked, and he was pushing her down onto her back on the pillows.

He hovered over her, gently caressing one breast and leaning to kiss the other. She gasped a little as his lips dragged up her chest to her neck, where he sucked and licked just enough to make her shudder with want. Her hands went to his back, unsure of what else to do, and she felt him drag his fingers around her entrance as he kissed her neck. She moaned, her back arching, and she whispered frantically, without thinking,

"I am truly sorry, My Lord, but I do love you."

"I know you do," he said against her neck. "My lovely little thing."

He moved his mouth to hers, his kiss as gentle as it had been in the shower. He pushed into her body so slowly that she only distantly knew it was happening. When he filled her, her hands went on instinct to his cheeks. She gasped when he pulled out and pushed back in slowly. He pulled his mouth away from hers and said,

"You'll kill for me."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, struggling to breathe through the feeling of him filling and then leaving her. One of his hands covered hers on his face as his breath became rickety. He pulled her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, holding himself up a little as he pumped his hips against hers.

"You'll make people scream out for mercy," he said, and Bellatrix nodded again.

"Then for their mothers," she said, echoing what he'd said about the Cruciatus Curse. "And then for nothing at all. I'll make your enemies go silent, My Lord."

"You're in love with me." He sounded as though he was trying to calibrate all of this himself. He shut his eyes, quickened his hips a little, and said, "You're my spy. You're my ally, my soldier-in-training. You're cruel to the marrow of your bones. You're amusing, you're beautiful, and you love me. Why?"

His eyes opened on that last word, and as Bellatrix felt everything start to tighten in her core, she panted, "Because you're the most magnificent wizard who's ever lived. And… because… mmph… because you…"

She had to stop then, for she couldn't fight off her climax anymore. His hips were grinding just so against hers. He crushed her mouth with a kiss, deepening the strokes of his cock into her as he seemed to be approaching his own peak. When his mouth left hers, his breath was quick and warm on her lips.

"Because you're perfect, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted. It was the truth, or, at least, it was her truth. Hearing her say such a thing seemed to drive him over the edge, and he grunted as he wrenched his hips tightly against hers. He spilled himself inside of her, his face twisting just an inch from hers as he whispered,

"Oh, Bella." He slowly pulled out of her and murmured, "Tergeo," once again impressing Bellatrix with his effortless advanced magic. He lay beside her on his back, touching his wrist to his forehead as he pulled her snugly against him.

He'd never been gentle with her like that, Bellatrix realised. When he'd taken her virginity, he'd rutted her from behind like an animal. In his office here at Malfoy Manor, he'd groped her and she'd gone on her knees for him. But this was different. There was something soft around the edges tonight, and Bellatrix felt an abrupt sense of grief in knowing she was about to leave for school again. As if he'd read her mind, Voldemort said crisply,

"I'll want to take you roughly in the Doxy's Nest when you're in Hogsmeade next."

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix said, pressing a kiss to his ribcage. She felt sleepy all of a sudden, and as the Dark Lord pulled blankets over the both of them, she asked carefully, "Are you very angry with me?"

"No," he said simply, and he left it at that.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_23 April 1969_

"Bella. Bella? Oh, for goodness' sake. Bellatrix, your potion's going to boil over."

Bellatrix finally snapped to rights and quickly stirred her potion as she brought the cauldron off the heat. Dahlia Greengrass gave her a serious look and asked,

"Are you ill?"

"No. Just… distracted," Bellatrix admitted. She was going to see the Dark Lord in just a few days at Hogsmeade, and though it had been only a few weeks since she'd seen him last, it felt like an eternity. Bellatrix swore under her breath when she realised her anti-burn gel had, rather ironically, burned to a crisp. She Vanished the potion and quickly started over, adding the first few ingredients and putting it on to a simmer. She sat down, and Dahlia sat beside her as she waited for her own potion to stew.

"Can I ask you something?" Dahlia said carefully. She looked around the Potions classroom, ensured that no one was paying attention, and she whispered to Bellatrix, "Over the Easter holiday, Fiona and Ophelia and I noticed that you and… you know, him… you seem awfully familiar with one another. I'm not trying to pry, but I admit I'm curious."

Bellatrix let out a shaking breath. Her master had instructed her not to lie to anyone about how close she was to him, nor the way she was off-limits to everyone else. So Bellatrix knitted her fingers in her lap and said,

"I'll put it this way, Dahlia. I know him better than any of his other followers do, and he knows me better than anyone in the entire world. Does that make sense?"

Dahlia's eyes went wide, and she stood for a moment to stir her potion. She picked up Bellatrix's stirring stick and drew it around her potion for her, and Bellatrix mumbled her thanks as Dahlia sat back down.

"He's so much older," she mused, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"I don't think about his age," she said honestly. "I think about his power."

"I'd be much too frightened," Dahlia admitted, and Bellatrix thought perhaps that was part of why the Dark Lord enjoyed her so much. She wasn't frightened where the others would be.

"I don't suppose I ought to discuss any of it in great detail," Bellatrix said. "Sorry."

Dahlia nodded and gave Bellatrix a little smile. After Potions was finished and Bellatrix had earned mediocre marks for her gel, she made her way out into a courtyard. She had nearly two hours before Transfiguration, and the weather today was so fine that even Bellatrix couldn't stand being indoors. She found a corner in the shade, for she still disliked the blaring sun, and she Conjured herself a cushion to sit on. She'd chosen a corner so that no one could see what she was writing or receiving in her journal, which she pulled from her rucksack. She had no idea what Lord Voldemort was doing right now; he was probably very busy. But Bellatrix scribbled into the book words he'd used weeks earlier.

_Lovely weather we're having._

His response came almost immediately, which made Bellatrix smile. She realised he must be sitting at his desk in Malfoy Manor working, with his journal out and ready to notify him that she'd written. His words were tight and neat.

_This time, there's no sarcasm in that. I've been trapped indoors all day, and the gardens are taunting me. I trust you're in a courtyard somewhere._

_How did you know?_  Bellatrix wrote back, trying desperately to suppress her grin. There was a little pause, and then his response came.

_I went to Hogwarts, too. We also had lovely spring weather and courtyards twenty-five years ago… ancient history to you, I know._

For the first time since she'd started regular contact with him, Bellatrix pondered his age. Dahlia had made her think of it a little earlier, and now he was talking about his own time at Hogwarts. He was forty-two, she knew. Almost exactly a quarter century older than her. When she'd been a toddling little child, he'd been a fully grown man. And with anybody else, that thought might have made her uncomfortable. For some reason, with the almighty Lord Voldemort, it only made Bellatrix tingle from the inside out.

_My Lord, I hope I still get to see you on the twenty-sixth in Hogsmeade_ , she wrote quickly, and there was so long a pause that she worried she'd been too forward. Finally his writing appeared, messier and coming up in little batches as though he were writing furiously.

_I had hoped so, too. But unless the Ministry's opinion of me spontaneously improves, I can't risk coming to Hogsmeade. They've made me a fully wanted man in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You should be reading the Daily Prophet; there have been stories about it all. Actually, please do be certain to read the Prophet each day. It's important for you to be properly informed from that angle. In any case, I haven't penetrated the Ministry fully enough yet to go about freely. For the time being, Bella, I'm stuck here. You understand, I'm sure, as my favourite soldier._

The happy smile that had come over her face from their playful banter disappeared, and Bellatrix had to struggle to fight back the burn in her eyes. Her fingers shook a little as she brought her raven black quill to the page.

_Of course I understand, Master. Please let me know if there is anything at all I can do to contribute to the efforts with the Ministry. I'm stuck here, too, but I'll fight for you any way I can._

His reply was swift then.  _I know you will. Over the summer, I mean for you to stay with me at Malfoy Manor. I won't be able to come to London to visit, and I grow weary of little visits here and there. You'll live with me this summer instead of staying at your parents' house._

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and her smile quickly returned. She pulled the journal up to her chest and shut her eyes, remembering what it had felt like to wake up beside him. He'd looked so different, bleary-eyed with ruffled dark hair. He'd seemed so very human when he'd cleaned his teeth and combed his hair and shaved his face. Watching him pick out clothes and dress for the day… it had been so much. Too much. Just enough. Bellatrix was dizzy at the thought of staying with him for months. When she brought her journal back down, she saw that he'd written something else.

_I also mean to give you your first taste of battle over the summer. So… how does all that sound, little thing?_

Bellatrix made no effort to stifle her grin as she wrote,  _It sounds heavenly, Master._

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_15 June 1969_

Sixty-seven days.

He had not seen Bellatrix in sixty-seven days. Now, as he stood in his private quarters staring at the trunks her House-Elf had sent over, his heart raced. He'd given her three days at home with her parents before she was to come here and stay with him. And she was due any moment.

He would stay here in his rooms, he'd decided, so as not to seem desperate or cloying. But as he waited, he paced and felt like a rat in a cage. Sixty-seven days had, for some bizarre reason, felt like an absolute eternity. He and Bellatrix had written one another daily about everything from squabbles with fellow students to the danger Dumbledore would pose over the summer. They wrote about the weather and the political climate. They wrote about journalists at the Daily Prophet and about Quidditch matches. They wrote about unspeakable things sometimes, and more than once Voldemort had touched himself to completion whilst the journal lay beside him with Bellatrix scribbling filthy things away. But it hadn't been enough. His desire for her had only grown more powerful, more insistent, over the last months. And now it was an almost physical ache; he needed her so badly that his hands shook where they knit together behind his back.

Finally, finally, there was a gentle knock on the door to his rooms. Voldemort extended his hand and flung the door open wandlessly, and when he saw her standing in the threshold, he could hardly breathe. He gulped and summoned enough breath to bark,

"Go away, Dobby."

The Malfoys' House Elf disappeared with a little crack, and Bellatrix looked like she was seeing food for the first time in a year. Voldemort beckoned her silently into the room, and as soon as she stepped into his drawing room, he wandlessly slammed the door shut. He locked and warded it, and he licked his lip as he whispered,

"You look very pretty today."

She did, too. She had on a sleeveless black tunic over leggings with knee-length leather boots. Her curls had been tamed into a thick braid that she had flung over one shoulder. She looked tough, almost intimidating. Beautiful. Voldemort approached her, cupping her face in his hands as he murmured,

"Tell me you missed me so I don't feel like a fool."

"Oh, I missed you, Master," Bellatrix nodded. Her eyes went wide and she added, "I dreamed of you almost every night, and when I'd wake up alone, it hurt on the inside."

"Well," he said, dragging his thumbs under her eyes, "For the duration of the summer holiday, you won't be waking up alone."

She shut her eyes and smiled, and he could feel the energy radiating from her as she said, "I practically leaped off the train, and I've spent the last three days at home being… well, intolerable, probably."

"Bellatrix Black, intolerable?" Voldemort teased, lowering his lips to her forehead. It was taking every ounce of self-control he had right now to keep from slamming her up against the wall and fucking her senseless. He moved his mouth to her ear and murmured, "You and I are going to manage to keep our clothes on for at least the next three hours."

"Why?" Bellatrix asked, the slightest hint of a whine in her voice. He chuckled at her insolence, and she quickly amended, "Why, Master?"

"Because," he said, dragging his fingers along her hair and kissing her cheekbone, "I have the entire summer to be naked with you. Right now I want to speak with you. The ink hasn't been enough. Come and drink with me."

She looked intrigued by that idea when he stood up straight and gestured over to the pair of wingback chairs on the fine Turkish rug. He'd put a bottle of Blishen's firewhisky and two tumblers on the low table between the chairs, and as Bellatrix sank into the chair opposite him, he poured them each two fingers of the firewhisky. He handed her tumbler to him, and she looked nervous as she stared at the liquor.

"I don't often drink," she admitted, and he scoffed.

"Neither do I. Cheers." He held his glass up and then brought it to his lips. The firewhisky seared his lips and was like molten lava going down. He cleared his throat as he forced himself to swallow the sip, and he couldn't help smirking at the way Bellatrix spluttered and coughed. He quickly Summoned another glass and used his wand to fill it with water. He handed it over to her and said, "Chase your sips."

She looked a little embarrassed but grinned as she set her firewhisky down and took a drink of water. He seized the opportunity to tell her something that had been on his mind lately.

"There is an Auror called Artemis Pryce who has made it her mission to see me dead. She'd never succeed, no matter how hard she tries, but she may well take out some of my best lieutenants in her quest. She'll be dead soon."

Bellatrix reached for her firewhisky and nodded. "You're going to kill her," she said, sipping bravely at the liquor. Voldemort waited until her face had stopped twisting, until she'd taken a drink of water, and in the meantime he sipped a few times at his own burning drink.

"I'm not going to kill her," he said. Bellatrix looked surprised, and Voldemort said crisply, "You're going to kill her, Bellatrix."

Her mouth fell open, and she swigged so hard at the firewhisky that she downed everything else in the glass. This time she didn't splutter. She set her empty glass down, sipped at the water, and said plainly. "Right. I'm going to kill her. So… are there any more specifics I ought to know about that?"

He was more attracted to her then than he'd ever been, and as he finished off his own firewhisky, his head started to swim for many reasons. He cleared his throat as he set his own tumbler town, and he folded his hands in his lap.

"Artemis Pryce lives in Devonshire," he told Bellatrix, "in a little country house on a quiet road. We're going to go there alone, just you and I, because you've never taken on an Auror in battle. And when the moment is right, you'll cast your Killing Curse upon her and we'll leave. There's nothing more to it than that. Killing, Bella, is actually very simple."

She nodded gravely. "When will this happen?"

"Tomorrow," he said, eyeing her carefully to see her reaction. When her lips curled up a little, he was suddenly flushed through with want. He shut his eyes and said, "I told you our clothes were going to stay on for three hours. That was a lie. Bedroom, Bella. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

15 June 1969

Bellatrix could hardly breathe. Her master was yanking her clothes off of her in between wild kisses. He'd already stripped off his own outer robe and tunic, and he'd kicked off his shoes and socks. He crushed her mouth with his as he yanked so hard at her bra that she yelped. Down went her leggings and off came her boots, and soon enough Bellatrix stood dizzy and naked as Voldemort kissed her harder than ever.

The taste of firewhisky in his kiss was as intoxicating as the liquor itself had been. His fingers went straight between her legs, and she moaned against his mouth as he shoved one, then two, then three fingers roughly inside her. Bellatrix squirmed where she stood as Voldemort tore his mouth away and stood up. He twisted his fingers, stretching her so cruelly that Bellatrix winced and wrenched her eyes shut. But a moment later, it started to feel more than a little good. He was invading her, his fingers pushing and spreading as if his intention was to violate her. But all Bellatrix could do was hold his shoulders and cry out, leaning against him to keep from falling when his thumb started working on her clit. His erection jabbed through his trousers against her belly, as insistent and firm as his hand was. His breath shook above her head, and his voice was a growl as he informed her,

"Tomorrow you'll show me your true mettle as a soldier, Bella. You won't disappoint me."

She couldn't answer, for her body was hurtling up to the summit of her pleasure faster than she could control it. Voldemort seemed to sense that; he ripped his hand from her and left her with a feeling of abject abandonment. He took a few steps back, and his fingers trembled as he brought them to his lips and tasted her. Bellatrix gasped, her own fingers flying between her legs. She meant to finish herself off. She needed to; she'd been perilously close when he'd -

"No, Bella." He batted her hand away from her own body and seized her by the waist. He tossed her roughly down onto his bed and snatched her wrists. He squeezed them both in his left hand and used his right to grab his wand from the table beside the bed. He aimed his wand at her wrists, which he pinned against the wooden bed frame, and he barked, " _Incarcerous_."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide as thin ropes sprang forth from Voldemort's wand. They snared around her wrists and bound her to the bed. A sudden shock of excitement took her over. She was on fire from the inside out. She squirmed where she lay trapped, trying desperately to create friction between her legs.

"No, Bella," Voldemort said again, putting his wand between his teeth as he unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down. He climbed naked onto the bed, forcing her to bend her legs and positioning himself between them. He dragged the tip of his wand around her breasts, and a warm tingling sensation took over the skin there. Bellatrix let her back arch up as she cried out, hoping with all her might that this suite of rooms was at partially soundproofed.

The Dark Lord bent down and clamped his mouth onto Bellatrix's right breast as his wand teased the other with the warming, tingling spell. He pulled her nipple between his lips, dragging his teeth over the skin there just enough to elicit a cry from Bellatrix. It felt divine, the way he was caressing and warming and licking and suckling on her body. His lips made their way down her belly, and for a moment she thought he was going to put his mouth to her womanhood. But instead he circled his wand around her lower abdomen and murmured,

" _Nongravidare_."

He set his wand down on the table beside the bed again and pushed into her so quickly that Bellatrix hissed through her teeth. She was utterly shocked when he took her ankles in his hands and raised them, bringing them up one at a time to her shoulders. Bellatrix was flexible, but this sort of contortion was not something she was used to. She pulled at her hands on instinct, feeling a wild thrill when the ropes resisted. Voldemort started to pound her mercilessly, his hips jolting and slapping against hers. His hands went back to her breasts, and he squeezed so roughly that a tear worked its way out of Bellatrix's eye.

There was something about this angle, about the depth of his penetration and the speed of his thrusting, and she was pushed over the edge. She came around his cock, her body clenching and clamping as pleasure ripped her through. In the midst of her moaning and his panting, she heard herself whisper,

"I love you, My Lord."

The response she got to that was that he wrenched her ankles from his shoulders, pulled his cock from her body, and jerked his hand over his length a few times. His seed flew in creamy ropes as his face contorted. It landed on Bellatrix's flat stomach, on her heaving chest, and the feel of it all over her made her shudder with arousal. Voldemort knelt there for a long moment, shutting his eyes and whispering,

"My lovely little thing."

He eventually reached for his wand and cast all manner of cleansing charms over the both of them until they were as clean as if they'd taken showers. He released Bellatrix's arms and rubbed and kissed at her wrists as he muttered that she was a good girl, that she was his and he liked that.

And he fell asleep with her, tangled together like strings in a braid, on the bed they were meant to share all summer. Bellatrix dreamed of torture and worse. She dreamed of her master, of school, of her Dark Mark and what it meant. Whether from the drink, the sex, or her dreams, it didn't matter - she slept like the dead.

* * *

_Ashburton, Devonshire_

_16 June 1969_

"This is where she lives?" Bellatrix asked, sounding completely unafraid as she stared at the white cottage before her. There were red geraniums in the window-sills, lace curtains visible, and a quaint red door. It seemed a peaceful place, but Voldemort knew full well that his enemy dwelled within.

"Yes," he told Bellatrix. "This is where she lives. I'll Stupefy her to neutralize her. Just since it's your first time. The moment she's Stupefied, I want you to cast the spell. Do you think you can do it, Bella?"

She raised her eyes to him and nodded solemnly. "I can do it, My Lord."

"Good. Let's go." He marched toward the door, feeling the dull vibration of wards around the house. He flicked his wand and shattered the wards, sparing one last glance to Bellatrix before opening the door. She was terrifyingly beautiful like this, he thought. With her wand gripped tightly in her hand, dressed for battle in leather lace-up gauntlets with her hair falling wild around her pretty face… he felt a surge of emotion that he neither wanted nor was able to properly identify.

_"Alohomora_ ," he said sharply, and he led Bellatrix quickly into the house. A half moment after he and Bellatrix had stormed into the cramped little foyer, a blonde-haired witch appeared at the top of the stairs.

_"Expelliarmus_!" cried Artemis Pryce, but Bellatrix nonverbally blocked the witch's spell. She flung her own wand's tip in the direction of Pryce and screamed,

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Artemis Pryce's wand came soaring down from the top of the stairs, and when Bellatrix caught it, she snapped it in two and tossed the pieces onto the ground. Pryce looked like she was about to try to Disapparate without her, but as Voldemort thundered up the stairs, he hacked his wand toward the Auror and said simply,

" _Stupefy_."

Without the wand Bellatrix had snapped, Pryce had no way of blocking Voldemort's spell; he was entirely too powerful for her. Pryce flew back against the wall and slumped down unconscious, her eyeglasses crooked around her pale face. Immediately, Bellatrix joined Voldemort at the top of the landing, aimed her wand at Pryce, and sounded almost ecstatic as she said in an enthusiastic tone,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a jade green flash of light, and Artemis Pryce's unconscious form tipped all the way over onto her side. Her spectacles fell from her face, and her arm flopped awkwardly in death. Bellatrix grinned, looking to Voldemort and stating,

"I did it, Master."

"You did," he nodded. "My beautifully wicked little thing."

He took Bellatrix's hand and squeezed it rather tightly. He stared at Bellatrix's face for a moment, both of them ignoring the body before them. Voldemort aimed his wand above his head and murmured, " _Morsmordre._  Let's go, Bella."

As the green shimmering sparks soared up from his wand, through Artemis Pryce's roof and up to the sky overhead, he knew his Dark Mark would be cast in the sky. Everyone would know this was the work of Lord Voldemort. For some reason, he wished he had some way of showing them that his youngest, most fearsome lieutenant had done it. She'd blocked a Disarming spell and quickly rebounded with one of her own. She'd snapped the wand of a respected Auror. She'd killed without question, without hesitation. And in the autumn, she'd be on the Hogwarts Express going back to school.

With that strange thought in his head, Voldemort Disapparated quickly, taking Bellatrix with him by Side-Along. They disappeared from Devonshire, from the place where she had really become his soldier, and they reappeared in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor.

* * *

_Black Family Residence, Kensington, London_

_17 July 1969_

"Bella! Mum, Bella's here!" Andromeda called over her shoulder as she dashed down the front corridor toward Bellatrix.

"Thought we'd never see you again," Narcissa complained as she ambled down the stairs with a book in her hand. Bellatrix threw her eyebrows up.

"I've been a little busy."

"Oh, darling." Druella Black wrapped her daughter up in her arms and started to guide her toward the parlour. "Come on in; let's have some tea. Marley! Fetch some tea."

The House Elf scampered off toward the kitchen, and as Bellatrix sat in the armchair opposite her mother, she glanced around and asked,

"Father's at work, then, is he?"

"Yes, dear," Druella nodded. When he wasn't handling financials for Lord Voldemort, Cygnus Black III was the investment manager for wealthy witches and wizards through Gringotts. He made good money at the job, though of course the Black family had old wealth… wealth that Cygnus wisely invested to make ever more.

"So… what's it like?" Druella asked plainly, taking a cup of tea from the tray Marley brought back in. Bellatrix took her own cup of tea, sipped from it, and asked innocently,

"What's what like, Mother?"

"Being the concubine of an aspiring Dark Lord." Druella said it without any malice, without taunting, and yet Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide.

"Concubine?" she repeated, and Druella rolled her eyes.

"Don't be daft, darling. All the most powerful men in history have had mistresses and concubines to keep them company whilst they ascend to the upper echelons of authority. The Dark Lord is no different. You're no different."

"Oh, yes. This is different, Mother." Bellatrix set her cup down on the table beside her and insisted, "I'm not his whore. I'm his soldier."

"If you're his soldier, Bellatrix, then why are you living with him at Malfoy Manor?" asked Druella, and in her eyes Bellatrix saw pity, as though the woman thought her poor daughter didn't realise she was a prostitute. Bellatrix was suddenly filled with fiery anger, and she said in a quietly dangerous voice,

"I am his companion, Mother. In battle. In conversation. In dining. In bed. In all of those things, I am his companion. How dare you trivialise what we… what I am to him? What he is to me?"

"How dare I?" Druella shrugged and looked genuinely surprised. "So, what, then? Shall we be expecting a marriage proposal sometime in the near future? Will you be the Lady Volde -"

"Do not speak his name aloud," Bellatrix hissed, cutting off her mother with such vitriol that Druella finally seemed to grasp the serious nature of it all. Druella sipped from her tea again, looking confused. She set down her cup and saucer, folded her hands in her lap, and noted,

"You belong to him now. I can see that. You're of age; you're not a child for me to govern. But I would beseech you, Bellatrix, as my eldest daughter, not to get yourself in deeper than you intended."

"The very bottom of the deepest ocean would not be nearly deep enough," Bellatrix informed her mother. "What I feel for him, what I do for him… what I have with him… no one will ever be able to comprehend. There is no parallel. I do not ask for your blessing, nor your understanding. I do not need your permission, nor your empathy. And I think this visit was ill-advised. I'm going home."

She stood from her chair, and from behind her, Druella Black said indignantly, "This is your home, Bellatrix!"

"No." Bellatrix turned round and shook her head. "He is my home. Goodbye, Mother. Tell Father I said hello."

She turned to go, nodding at Marley as the House Elf scrambled to open the door.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_17 July 1969_

"Something wrong?" Voldemort set down his fork from his cottage pie and stared across the table at Bellatrix. She'd poked at her food a few times but hadn't eaten anything. She'd been to her family's house today, Voldemort knew, while he'd been in seemingly endless meetings with Macnair and Avery.

"I'm fine, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, and he rolled his eyes as he informed her,

"I can go in your head and know in five seconds and make you feel lightheaded and nauseated. Or you can tell me."

She sighed and took a sip of wine. She kept her eyes down as she admitted, "My mother referred to me as your 'concubine' today. It didn't sit well with me. That's all."

"My concubine." Voldemort nodded a little and huffed out a breath. One one hand, he could see why someone would interpret Bellatrix that way. A concubine was, by definition, a kept woman with much lower status than a wife. And wasn't that what Bellatrix was? He kept her near him for physical convenience. But, no, he thought. There was much more to it than that. She'd accompanied him in three separate battle situations now, throwing hexes and killing with an impunity that made him adore her. She woke up beside him in the morning with her curls in her eyes, and he always pushed them aside to kiss her cheekbone. He liked to dine with her, to spend the evenings talking or reading in contented quiet. She was no whore. She was no mistress.

"I do not think 'concubine' is the correct word to describe… this," Voldemort said, "but I do not fault your mother for lacking better terminology, I suppose."

"No, I suppose not, My Lord." Bellatrix stabbed at a potato with her fork and chewed it carefully. She was still staring at her lap, so Voldemort said in a cautious voice,

"Bella, look at me."

"Master," Bellatrix acknowledged, raising her gaze. Her wide, dark eyes were prettier than ever as they searched his face.

"You're not a concubine, nor a mistress. You're not a kept woman," Voldemort mused, thinking aloud. "You're… I don't have a better word for it, either, but those aren't the right ones."

Girlfriend. He could read it plainly from her mind without even peeking in. He scoffed and dabbed his napkin to his lips as he informed her crisply,

"You are not my girlfriend. What a disgusting word that is." He sipped from his wine, and Bellatrix's cheeks went a very deep scarlet. She stared right at him and said,

"I told my mother I was your companion."

"Oh. Yes. I rather like that." Voldemort felt his lips curl up of their own accord. He pondered the word, narrowed his eyes, and nodded. "Companion. Yes, that seems right. Can we eat now?"

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled and tucked more thoroughly into her cottage pie. By the time their desserts appeared, she seemed to be in an altogether improved mood.

"I have some happy news for you," Voldemort told her, "and I confess I've been saving it until you had ice cream in front of you with which to celebrate."

Bellatrix looked intrigued. She dragged her spoon over the vanilla ice cream in her bowl and asked, "What's the news, My Lord?"

He could scarcely contain his own smile as he slid a spoonful of the sweet, cold cream into his mouth. He swallowed and told her, "Tomorrow, Macnair and Avery are going to York, where we've identified the home of one Ruth Prewett."

"Is that… the aunt of Gideon and Fabian and Molly?" asked Bellatrix with confusion, and Voldemort shook his head.

"Cousin. She's their elder cousin, and she works for the Ministry. For many reasons, I find I want to incapacitate as many Prewetts as possible. So, tomorrow, Macnair and Avery will bring Ruth Prewett here to Malfoy Manor, and I'm going to let you play with her."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed. "Play, My Lord?"

"Yes." He took another spoonful of ice cream, savouring it for a moment before he clarified, "You'll be casting your very first Cruciatus Curse tomorrow. I look forward to watching."

Bellatrix's lips parted and trembled, and she suddenly broke into an enormous grin. "Thank you, Master," she whispered, and he smirked as he told her,

"Eat your ice cream, Bella. It's melting."

* * *

Many hours later, she lay curled up beside him in bed, and he breathed in the faint smell of roses on her freshly-washed hair. He threaded his fingers through hers, but she didn't wake from the motion. She was comfortable here with him, Voldemort knew. They were both probably entirely too comfortable, but he couldn't care. And her mother had been wrong. Bellatrix was not a concubine. Bellatrix was his companion. It was just as she'd said.

He kissed the skin between her shoulder blades, and she shivered a little. He released her hand and put his fingers at her shoulder, dragging his touch down her bare arm. In less than two months' time, she'd be back at Hogwarts, and they'd be communicating in their journals. This past month with her at Malfoy Manor had felt, in many ways, like a dream from which he had yet to awaken. She was always there in the mornings to see him groggy and sloppy, and he didn't mind. He liked when she leaned on the doorjamb in the bathroom and watched him shave, a delicate little smile on her lips. He liked to slowly make love to her. He liked pounding her mercilessly into the sheets. He liked when she used her mouth on him. He liked to touch her and watch as she came. He liked to drink wine with her until they were both laughing about nonsense.

He liked more than anything to see her in battle, shrieking or muttering as her wand threw curses about with abandon. She was ferocious. He'd have been terrified of her if she hadn't been working for him. She still scared him, just a little bit, with the way she could influence his thoughts and his emotions. He relished his self-control, and Bella stole it a little more every day. But even still, Voldemort was enjoying himself, and in moments like this, with her curled up against him, he found his heart starting to race with something he could never quite name.

"Bella," he whispered, and her eyes slowly blinked open at the sound of his voice. She rolled a little more to face him, and she quirked up half her mouth as she asked in a cracked whisper,

"What time is it, My Lord?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. He squinted through the darkness to the clock on the wall, and he said, "It's three twenty-five."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and suppressed a yawn. "Is something wrong, Master?"

He stared at her face for a long moment, suddenly unable to remember why it was he'd awakened her. He'd just wanted to see her eyes, he supposed. To hear her voice. He huffed a little sigh and said,

"Be very certain that when you cast the Cruciatus Curse, you maintain the spell for at least one minute in each burst. Any shorter than that, and you won't achieve the blankness, the madness. It'll be tiring, but I… I believe you'll manage just fine."

Bellatrix gave him a knowing little look and, abandoning the formality of titles, said, "You didn't wake me up at three-thirty to lecture me about the Cruciatus Curse."

Voldemort licked his lip. "It's only three twenty-five."

"Still." Bellatrix reached for his face, for the tiny bit of scruff that was four hours away from being shaved off, and she murmured, "May I say something?"

"Yes." Voldemort's chest ached a little, for the thought had once again come into his mind that he was on borrowed time, that soon enough she'd be hundreds of miles away from him. It hurt physically to think about it, in a way it certainly should not have hurt. Bellatrix's hand tightened on his face a little, and he chewed his lip before he said, "What is it, Bella? What do you want to tell me?"

"I love you," she whispered at once. Her eyes glistened a little in the darkness as she added, "I'll never expect to hear anything in response to that. Don't worry. But I haven't told you in weeks, and for some reason, at very nearly three-thirty in the morning, I can not help but tell you. I love you. I'm sorry."

"Would you at least stop apologising for it?" Voldemort scowled. Bellatrix's mouth fell open in surprise, and he leaned to kiss her forehead. He shut his eyes, breathing in the warmth and scent and feel of her, and he muttered, "I had no good reason for waking you. But do keep the Cruciatus Curse held solid for at least a minute each time, or it won't do much good."

"At least a minute," Bellatrix repeated. "I shall do just that, Master."

"Go back to sleep," he ordered her, pulling her snugly up against him and keeping his eyes closed. When she cast an arm over his chest, he brought her knuckles to his lips and informed her, "It would be exceedingly difficult - probably impossible - for me to find a better companion than I have in you."

She was silent then, but her breath quickened on his chest a little. Finally she whispered, "Goodnight, My Lord."

"Goodnight, Bella," he said, listening to her breath go slow and deep as sleep washed over her again.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_18 July 1969_

"You're nervous," said the Dark Lord, and Bellatrix finally realised how hard she'd been chewing her nails. She stared at him across the coffee table between them, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he said, "It's perfectly normal to be nervous about something like this. They should be here any minute. Let's talk about something different."

The parlous where they were sitting seemed awfully hot for some reason, but Bellatrix managed to blow her sweaty curls from her face and shrug. "Erm… next week is my father's birthday, My Lord. Narcissa and Andromeda are throwing him a little party. With your leave, I'll attend."

"Of course," Voldemort nodded. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "How old is your father?"

"He'll be turning thirty-five, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort's eyes went wide.

"Thirty-five?" he repeated incredulously. Bellatrix nodded.

"He and my mother were married during their seventh year at Hogwarts, My Lord, and she was already six months along with me by the time they left. They were eighteen when I was born; Narcissa was the last, and they were still only twenty-two for her. Pureblood ways, I suppose."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose." The Dark Lord frowned deeply, and Bellatrix knew why. He himself was forty-two years old, seven years older than her own father. That meant that Voldemort himself was certainly old enough to be Bellatrix's father, a thought that made her feel a twinge of discomfort. She pursed her lips and asked,

"Do you find it's better to brew advanced potions with a copper cauldron, My Lord?"

"Why do you ask?" He drummed his fingers again, and she swallowed hard as she shrugged and said,

"I need a new cauldron for school this year; the one I've been using for six years is completely worn out, and I want to ensure I get a good score on my Potions NEWT."

"You know, you're not helping the age situation. Telling me how young your father is. Talking about taking your NEWTs." Voldemort waved his hand exasperatedly in Bellatrix's general direction, shut his eyes, and sighed, "Yes. A copper cauldron will do you fine. You'll need to go to Diagon Alley in August, I suppose."

"Yes." Bellatrix felt ashamed for having made him feel old, and she opened her mouth to apologise, but then the door to the parlour swung open, and two wizards came backing over the threshold with a witch levitated between them.

Bellatrix flew to her feet and pulled out her wand, her heart thumping as she knew her chance to truly prove herself had come. Avery and Macnair carefully placed the unconscious witch on the ground, and Voldemort smirked down at Ruth Prewett as he said,

"Thank you, gentlemen. You may go."

"My Lord," they both mumbled, and they walked briskly from the room, shutting the door behind them. Voldemort loomed over the ginger-haired Ruth Prewett, who was tall and thin and looked as though she was perhaps thirty years of age. He eyed Bellatrix and asked,

"Ready?"

"Ready, My Lord." Bellatrix remembered all the advice he'd given her about casting this curse, but even so she thought she might be sick from nerves. Voldemort aimed his wand down at Ruth Prewett and murmured smoothly,

" _Rennervate._ "

Ruth woke up slowly, blinking and coughing a little as she slowly sat up. A look of terror came over her eyes as she looked from Voldemort to Bellatrix. She'd be unarmed, Bellatrix knew; Avery and Macnair had surely confiscated her wand. Just the same, Bellatrix thought it best to act quickly. She aimed her wand straight at Ruth Prewett, summoned every ounce of magic that dwelled within her, and cried,

_"CRUCIO!_ "

She was nearly thrown back by the force of the red jet that burst from her wand. A web of light encapsulated Ruth Prewett, and Bellatrix's hand tingled fiercely as the curse took hold. She watched as Ruth twitched and moaned, and as the pain seemed to grow more intense, a wordless shriek came from the witch's mouth. Voldemort just stood watching, his arms folded over his robes with a look of interest on his face.

"Please!" Ruth Prewett screamed, clutching at her hair where she knelt. "Please! Please stop! It's… oh, please, please stop!"

That was the crying for mercy, then, Bellatrix thought. She grunted softly as a little wave of fatigue came over her, and from where he stood, the Dark Lord informed her,

"That tiredness will pass. Push through it."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said through gritted teeth. Her arm was shaking from holding the forceful spell. Ruth Prewett collapsed down, her forehead crashing against the rug as she repeated in a quiet whine,

"Please stop. Please stop. Please stop."

Finally Bellatrix knew she couldn't hold the spell anymore, and she released it. She shook her arm out, rolled her shoulder, paced a few steps, and took a deep breath. She glanced up to her lord, the man she loved with everything she was, and she saw him smile. He looked proud, and suddenly Bellatrix wasn't tired at all. She smirked and nodded at him, and she raised her wand again.

_"Crucio!"_

Once more the red light shot like a cannon and wrapped around Ruth Prewett. The red-haired witch toppled over and shrieked more loudly than ever, her hands forming claws as she tore at her face and her chest as if trying to get something out from beneath her skin.

"Please!" she screamed, sounding more desperate than before. Tears wormed their way down Ruth's freckled cheeks, and she implored Bellatrix, "Please, I have a family! I have people who love me; don't do this."

"Crying for your mummy," Bellatrix taunted her, stepping closer as the red light crackled and frayed. Bellatrix studied the other witch's swollen eyes and informed her, "You'll never know your family again. Just soak it all in, Ruthie."

She held the spell as Ruth pounded her fists on the carpet and screamed. Gradually the screams grew quieter, the twitching and convulsing stopped, and Ruth Prewett's hands stopped pounding. Her eyes shut, but Bellatrix was somehow still aware of her heartbeat and breath. In desperate need of a break, Bellatrix broke the spell and staggered backward a few steps. She was dizzy and lightheaded, feeling very hot and almost drunk. She leaned heavily on the back of an armchair and shut her eyes, trying to get the room to stop spinning. There was a hand on her shoulder then, and when she turned and opened her eyes, Voldemort was dragging his fingers over her hair and kissing her sweaty forehead.

"Take this," he said, holding a little jade vial up for Bellatrix. "It's Invigoration Draught. You won't need it once you've grown used to this."

"Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix gratefully took the little vial and knocked it back. It had a cloying sweet taste, and she was glad when Voldemort handed her a small glass of water to follow the potion. Within moments, she was feeling energised, as if she'd just awakened from a deep and restful sleep. She nodded determinedly and asked, "Once more?"

He nodded. "Just once more."

She walked by him, stepping over toward Ruth Prewett again. The witch was groaning quietly where she lay, rolling a little on the ground with the last vestiges of energy she possessed. Bellatrix held her wand out and said very proudly,

_"Crucio."_

This time when the red light burst from her wand, Bellatrix felt an almost orgasmic sense of bliss come over her. She actually moaned aloud, the sound drawn from the depths of her core as Ruth Prewett sobbed wordlessly. This was the last stage, Bellatrix knew. The part where they cried for nothing at all. She held the spell for so long that her arm went numb, and she just stared as Ruth Prewett's arms and legs went still. Her eyes opened and stared blankly at the ceiling. After a while, her bright blue eyes went a dull grey, and her skin lost its rosy flush. Bellatrix watched as strands of grey hair appeared among the carrot orange hair that fell around Ruth's face.

Bellatrix released her spell and glanced at the clock on the wall, realising she'd spent over fifteen minutes torturing Ruth Prewett. She lowered her wand and looked to Lord Voldemort, whose eyes glistened as he nodded and said,

"That was very well done indeed, Bella. Now… you've had your fun. Finish her off."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open with surprise, but she did not hesitate to obey her master. She turned her wand on Ruth Prewett and said firmly,

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

The only movement Ruth had been making, the little swell of her chest with breath, stopped as the green light from Bellatrix's wand socked her. Voldemort aimed his own wand at the body and said softly,

_"Corpus Evanesco."_

The lifeless scraps of Ruth Prewett Vanished into nonbeing, and Bellatrix felt a swell of energy go through her. Voldemort gave her a little half-smile and said,

"There's Champagne chilling upstairs to celebrate."

"And what if I had failed, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. He shrugged and said confidently,

"I knew you wouldn't. Now… let's go celebrate."

* * *

"To your terrifying ability to destroy people," said Lord Voldemort, holding up his Champagne flute and clinking it against Bellatrix's. She smiled at him and added,

"To your expert tutelage, My Lord."

"Mmm… you didn't need my help. You had all that right within yourself, Bella." Voldemort sipped at his Champagne and moved over to the wireless on the mantle in his drawing room. He turned the wireless on and adjusted the tuner until a piece for strings and piano was playing. Bellatrix drank her Champagne as he took off his outer robe and complained,

"It's hot as hell today, isn't it?"

"It is, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She was about to suggest opening a window, but Voldemort arced his wand before him and said firmly,

_"Defrigesco."_

Suddenly the air in the drawing room was comfortably cool. Still, Voldemort set his Champagne on the low table and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Bellatrix noticed, now that he had his outer robe off, that he wore the tie bar she'd given him for his birthday. That seemed so long ago now, she thought. He saw her staring at it, and he said quietly,

"I wear it whenever I've a tie on."

"Oh." Bellatrix set her own Champagne down next to his and walked over to where he stood. She touched her fingers to the silver serpent and dared to say,

"Perhaps you'll wear it when I'm away?"

He covered her fingers with his and nodded. "I will. And, to that end, I've something for you. You've more than earned it, I should think."

He moved over to the writing desk in the corner, and Bellatrix's eyebrows went up as she watched him pull out a flat black box. He walked back over to her, chewing very hard on his bottom lip as he passed her the box. Bellatrix tried to thank him, but before she could, he informed her,

"You please my body, Bellatrix. You are a good and fearless soldier. You are my loyal servant, a satisfying companion for me. And so you've earned this, you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded and pulled the lid off the black box. She gasped when she saw what was inside. There, lying nestled on a bed of black satin, was a richly created silver necklace. It was a thick rope of silver, and it clasped together in the front in the shape of a serpent's head looped with its tail. There were tiny diamonds around the head and tail of the serpent, and its eyes were little black onyx ovals.

Bellatrix's eyes welled, and her hands shook madly as she pulled the necklace out and set the box down. She pulled the serpent's tail out from its head and tried to put the necklace on, but her hands were covered by Voldemort's. He quickly took over, clasping the serpent together in the front as he informed her,

"This is no ordinary necklace," he informed her. "It is carefully enchanted to overwhelm any anti-Apparition charms. That means -"

"I could leave Hogwarts and go back," Bellatrix breathed. Voldemort smirked and shrugged.

"That's what it's meant to do. I confess it's experimental, and I haven't had the chance to try it out at Hogwarts. And, of course, it would be for very rare occasions only; we can't have you getting expelled for something like this."

"Of course not, My Lord." Bellatrix was ashamed of the way tears had boiled over from her eyes, but her lord and master did not seem to mind. He took her face in his hands and bent down to kiss the tears from her cheeks as he murmured,

"Dance with me, Bella."

He seized her right hand and put his own at the small of her back, and Bellatrix struggled to find the beat of the music playing on the wireless. She leaned her head against his chest and swayed gently, listening to his heartbeat through his white dress shirt. He sighed as if he was tired, and for a very long while they just stood there swaying back and forth. Bellatrix tried to focus on the sound of piano and violin, but all she could hear was her master's heart.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked eventually, and she knew what he meant. Torturing and killing Ruth Prewett. She nodded against his shirt and said,

"Yes, My Lord. I enjoyed it very much. Does that make me an awful person?"

He scoffed and sounded amused as he demanded, "Who cares whether you're an awful person? Who gets to decide such a thing, anyway? I thought you were magnificent. I got more than a little excited myself, watching you do that."

"Did you?" Bellatrix raised her face to him, and he leaned down to kiss her gently as he nodded. His lips touched hers, delicately at first, and their feet stopped dancing. He squeezed her hand and deepened his kiss, and Bellatrix sighed against him.

"My wicked little thing," he whispered, holding her jaw with one hand while the other one stroked the serpent necklace he'd given her. He kissed her harder, pushing his tongue between her lips and dragging it over the roof of her mouth. She moaned and felt her knees buckle. He tasted divine, like always, and his hands made her flesh prickle with want. He finally pulled away, his eyes glittering as he informed her seriously, "There has never, ever been a more beautiful woman in all the world, Bella, than you today in the red glow of your spell."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix said, unsure of a better response to such a comment. He kissed her forehead and murmured,

"I'll want you here for your birthday, you understand? Three weeks into the school year and you'll be turning eighteen; I'll want you here."

Bellatrix curled up half her mouth. "My Lord, that's more than two months from now."

He raised his eyebrows. "I know what I want. I suggest you plan accordingly."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_18 August 1969_

"Enter."

Voldemort scratched out the last few words in a letter to Yaxley regarding an unofficial registry that separated births to Magical peoples by blood status of the child. He signed it with a flourish as the door opened, and he pushed the letter aside as Bellatrix came stumbling into his office.

She had a heavy copper cauldron on one arm, and inside the cauldron were five or six thick books. She had a canvas bag that was practically exploding with quills and Potions supplies, and she had a foil-stamped bag from Madam Malkin's that clearly had a box of new robes inside. She huffed as she set the supplies down and shut the door behind her. Voldemort raised his eyebrows and said,

"I see you've been to Diagon Alley."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix blew her curls from her eyes and stood, looking exasperated. "I went with my mother and my sisters, and it was just sheer chaos. Apparently everyone wanted to go on the same day. Ugh… I ought to have gone earlier this summer."

"You only just received your book list last week," Voldemort noted, tipping his head and folding his hands on his desk. She smiled a little, pushed her wild hair back with her fingers, and said,

"Fair enough, My Lord. My mother wanted me to take all this back to our house in London, but… erm… I wasn't certain if I'd be leaving for King's Cross from her house or…"

"From here," Voldemort said primly. He licked his bottom lip and said, "Abraxas' son Lucius will be going the same day; Abraxas will help see you off."

"Oh. Yes. Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix pursed her lips, and he knew there was something she wanted to say. He pushed into her mind with silent Legilimency and felt immediate waves of sorrow, of grief. She didn't want to leave him. He pulled out of her mind and sighed as he told her,

"If I had it my way, Bella, you wouldn't be leaving. But it may be important later on for you to have finished your education, to have strong NEWT scores. I can't anticipate whether or not that will be of importance, but I can't risk you being disqualified from any path for a lack of education."

"No, My Lord. Of course not." She picked at her thin summer robe and lowered her face as she said, "It's just… it won't be the same. Not anywhere near the same. Sleeping alone in my dormitory…"

He dug his teeth into his bottom lip and said, "It'll be the same once you've finished school, Bella. Wherever I'm based come next summer, you'll be there. Permanently."

"I will?" she raised her eyes, which seemed ready to boil over with tears. Voldemort nodded once, girded himself against the swell of emotion he felt, and said sharply,

"But that's a long way off, and less than two weeks from now, you'll be gone. So… come here. I should like to… just come here."

She did, walking around his desk as he stood from his chair. Without any pretense, he hauled her up onto his desk, and she squealed a little. Voldemort leaned to kiss her, crushing her mouth with his and smashing her hand to the front of his trousers. She seemed surprised by the sudden onslaught, but her hands quickly started working at the placket of his trousers. He pulled her tongue into his mouth and she sighed, pulling his soft cock from his trousers and caressing it as if it were very delicate. Her fingers drifted around, and one of her hands played with his orbs a bit. She reached deeper into his underwear, pushing his trousers down as she rubbed at the sensitive skin inside his thighs. He started to go hard, to feel a profound want for her, and he tore his mouth from hers so he could whisper into her ear,

"Don't you dare mess up all my work, little thing… just because I'm going to fuck you on my desk doesn't… oh."

His filthy words were cut off by the way her thumb drifted around his tip, spreading the dewy smoothness there. He snarled and pushed aside her robe, pushed up the black mini skirt she had on, and he wrenched her knickers down over her thighs. She gasped at how hard he pulled, at the way he was rough and urgent. He balled the knickers up and tossed them onto his desk. They landed right beside his letter to Yaxley, but he didn't care.

He spread her knees with his hands and then seized her waist, pulling her to the edge of the desk as he thrust himself into her. Her own arms flew up to wrap around his shoulders, and she burrowed her face against his black linen shirt. The desk banged and slid a little as Voldemort slammed himself into Bellatrix, pounding her for all he was worth. She whined and panted against him, her breath hot through the thin material of his shirt, and he found himself holding her dark curls tightly for leverage. He yanked her back by her hair and kissed her, his hips slapping against her thighs. She was snug and warm around him, slick with desire and tight with youth, and he almost lost himself before he'd really begun. Some niggling part of his mind screamed at him to get his wand and cast a contraceptive spell on her, which he did before muttering,

"You need a longer-acting potion. Ungh…"

He locked their bodies up tightly, her ankles crossing behind his back as she squeezed him through his climax. He felt his seed pumping in uneven jolts as a white-hot sense of bliss came over him. He kissed Bellatrix's forehead, her skin warm and delicious beneath his lips.

_"Tergeo_ ," he mumbled somewhat breathlessly as he slipped out of Bellatrix's body. The messy remnants of what he'd just done to her were siphoned up, and he sniffed lightly as he tucked his softening cock away. His fingers shook a little as he buttoned up his trousers, and he reached for Bellatrix's knickers. She reached to take them, but he held fast and forced her to look at him for a moment. He tipped his head and nodded.

"I will miss you terribly, you know," he said, trying to keep his voice formal and failing dismally. Bellatrix slid her underwear on and blinked quickly a few times.

"Not half as much as I'll miss you, My Lord. With all due respect."

"Do you need help getting your supplies to our quarters, or can you do it yourself? I've letters to send off." Voldemort sniffed lightly again, and Bellatrix slid from the desk as she assured him,

"I'm perfectly fine, My Lord. Sorry to interrupt your work."

He scoffed at that and shook his head, seizing her wrist as she headed for the pile of shopping she'd left near the door. She turned round, and he kissed her firmly once before he said,

"I'm going to do that to you again tonight. And in the morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix smiled a bit devilishly and squeezed his hand. "I understand."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_1 September 1969_

Bellatrix gently combed her wild curls back, using a black ribbon to bind them into a loose ponytail. She straightened the Slytherin tie, which seemed like it hadn't been worn in ages. She picked up the toothbrush she'd been using for a few months here in the Dark Lord's bathroom, and her fingers shook a little as she opened the lid of their tooth powder. She dipped her brush into the powder and scrubbed at her teeth, staring at her reflection in the mirror and trying not to cry. In just a few hours, she'd be on the Hogwarts Express, steaming away from the Dark Lord. She spit into the sink and swished water in her mouth, shutting her eyes and holding her cold, wet hands to her cheeks.

"Bella."

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, turning from the sink to see him standing in the threshold with his arms folded over his chest. She was suddenly taken back to sunrise, when he'd taken her slowly and gently, almost carefully. He'd looked so handsome in the grey light of the early morning, and he looked handsome now as he said,

"I… apologise that I can't take you to King's Cross myself."

Bellatrix smiled a little and shook her head. "You're not my father, Master. And I think it's very rare that a student would be taken to the station by her lord, don't you? I think it's fine the way it's happening; that I go by Portkey with the Malfoys. I just wish I didn't have to go at all."

"I Lightened your trunk so it'll be easier for you to load onto the train," Voldemort said, his voice sounding strange.

"Thank you, Master," Bellatrix said, feeling rightly and truly grateful to him. She smoothed her hair nervously and said, "It has been a magnificent summer. For me."

"For us both," he nodded. Everything felt so stilted and formal all of a sudden, and Bellatrix was compelled to remind the both of them,

"There's still the journals."

"Mmm. Indeed. And the necklace." Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and walked toward Bellatrix. He took her face in his hands and seemed to be studying every speck of her, like he was memorising her. His throat bobbed and he said cautiously, "I… I find myself suddenly wishing I owned a camera. I'm not quite sure why I don't."

Bellatrix's eyes burned again, and she remembered the pack of portrait prints from the last school year that were still in her trunk. She walked quickly from the bathroom, and Voldemort eyed her curiously as she unlatched and threw open the lid of her trunk in the bedroom. She rifled past the piles of clothes, around her books and supplies, and she finally found the little cardboard box. She opened it and pulled out two of the black-and-white school portraits. They were Magical photographs, so they were meant to show a good deal of movement, but all Bellatrix had done for the picture was to give a small smile and turn her head a little. Still, she latched the trunk again and rose, handing the photographs to the Dark Lord.

"One portrait and a spare, My Lord. Sorry it isn't the best picture of me."

"It'll do just fine. You're always lovely." He dragged his fingers over the print and sighed. His lips parted then closed, and it seemed to take a significant amount of willpower for him to admit, "I am… more aggrieved about you leaving than perhaps I'd expected to be. I have much to keep me busy; I hope to put three new plants in the Ministry just in the next six weeks, and you're not my only spy. I have a ladder to climb. But I suppose I find it more pleasant to climb that ladder with you nearby. I do not mean to sound maudlin."

"You don't sound maudlin, My Lord." Bellatrix waited until he met her gaze, and she said firmly, "This summer I killed more than once for you. I learnt to torture prisoners properly. I refined some of my observation skills to serve you better as a spy. But I wish I did not have to serve you from far away. Waking up in the mornings without you is not something I'm looking forward to doing."

He glanced at the clock. "You need to go. The Portkey is downstairs and leaves in ten minutes."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix stared up at him, unable to force herself away. She studied his glimmering dark eyes, the sharp lines of his face, and an abrupt swell of sentiment came over her. She reached impulsively for his freshly-shaven face and pulled his face down to hers. Suddenly he wasn't just her master. He wasn't just the much older Dark Wizard who murdered with abandon and lived for personal power. He was the man she loved, the one who had touched her and stood in the shower with her and kissed away her tears and laughed over wine. He was her companion, her everything.

She kissed him fiercely, and after a moment he started to kiss her back. He set her photographs down on the bed and threaded hs fingers through her loosely tied curls. She tasted mint and baking soda on his mouth, his own teeth newly cleaned like hers. His fingers were warm where they held her scalp. One of his hands went to the small of her back and yanked her flush against him, and his mouth pulled away just enough to whisper again furtively,

"You need to go, Bella. You'll miss the Portkey."

"All right, My Lord." Bellatrix felt dizzy as she forced herself away from him. She watched him pull the inside of his wrist against his mouth, and he paced a bit with his hands on his hips. He looked more than a little frustrated, and he gestured to the serpent necklace that was now hidden by her school shirt and her tie.

"Keep your necklace on. Keep your journal near you at all times."

"Of course, My Lord.  _Wingardium Leviosa._ " She raised her trunk up into the air and carefully guided it through the threshold to the door that led to the main corridor. Voldemort put his hand on the handle and was about to open the door for her, but Bellatrix put her free hand over his and said softly, "I love you, My Lord."

His eyes flashed strangely, but he nodded quickly and whispered, "Go. Don't miss your train."

* * *

_The Hogwarts Express_

_1 September 1969_

"Bella! How was your summer?" Dahlia and Ophelia came barging into the compartment where Bellatrix had been sitting. She smiled a little and shrugged, unsure of how to tell them she'd learnt to torture and kill over the holidays. So instead she scratched at her curls a little and lied,

"Nothing too terribly thrilling. And you two?"

The girls gave each other a meaningful look, and then Ophelia said quietly, "Andromeda says you spent the entire summer living at Malfoy Manor, Bella."

Bella smirked and rolled her eyes. "Keeping her mouth shut has never been a particular strength of Dromeda's. Well, she wasn't lying. You both know what I plan to do for work after school. I was training for that, and I was… with my mentor. Can we leave it at that?"

Dahlia narrowed her eyes and noted, "You seem different."

"Different how?" Bellatrix demanded, throwing up an eyebrow. Ophelia seemed a little nervous as she said,

"More… confident, perhaps? Something's different. Oh… you're in love, aren't you?"

Bellatrix frowned. "You should stop now, Ophelia."

"She is," Ophelia mused, wonder in her voice as she studied Bellatrix's face. "She's head over heels for Lord -"

"I said you should stop now." Bellatrix's tone was lethal as she spoke through clenched teeth, and Ophelia nodded silently.

"Sorry," murmured Dahlia. As if to try and diffuse the tension, Dahlia changed the subject to her own romantic exploits. "Bella, I've been exchanging letters with Rabastan Lestrange all summer. We met up a few times; my parents think perhaps he might ask for my hand after school."

Ophelia squealed with happiness and clapped her hands a little. "Ooh, but doesn't Dahlia Lestrange just have such a nice ring to it?"

"I think we'd make one another happy," Dahlia said cautiously, "but of course there's nearly the entire school year to figure out if we should marry. I just want to dance with him at the Opening Ball."

"The Opening Ball," Bellatrix repeated, scowling. "What's that?"

Once again, Ophelia and Dahlia exchanged looks. Dahlia rifled through her rucksack and pulled out a letter in an envelope. "I suppose if you weren't at your parents' house, you wouldn't have received the owl, but I'm not sure why Lucius Malfoy or your sisters wouldn't have told you."

"Nobody tells me much of anything," Bellatrix grumbled, taking the letter. It had been sent from Albus Dumbledore to all the students, stating that he would like to begin a new tradition of opening the school year with a ball to welcome the new first-years and to reunite after a long summer away from friends. Bellatrix wrinkled her nose and handed the letter back to Dahlia. "What a silly idea. Thank goodness I brought some gowns, I suppose. If attendance isn't mandatory, I'll be sitting in the Slytherin girls' dormitory, though."

Ophelia pursed her lips. "I hope you come. I hope you dance with a few boys your own age… just for fun, Bella! And I hope you get to see Dahlia stare lovingly into the eyes of Rabastan Lestrange."

Both the other girls giggled then, and Bellatrix couldn't keep from grinning a little. She shrugged. "Fine."

"Speaking of Rabastan," said Dahlia carefully, "He's in a compartment with Tarquin and Maximus. I thought perhaps I'd go talk to him a bit."

"You two go ahead," Bellatrix said, waving her hand dismissively. "I still haven't quite forgiven Tarquin Avery for feeling me up last year. I'll see you at school."

Once they'd gone, Bellatrix pulled her journal out from her bag, along with her black quill, and tucked herself into a corner of the bench as she wrote,

_Albus Dumbledore's hosting some stupid ball to begin the school year. Should I go, My Lord?_

His response came so quickly that she knew he must be in his office with his journal nearby.

_Yes, of_ course _you need to go. I need eyes and ears on everything possible. That includes social events, where people's loyalties and relationships are made_ more plain _._

As soon as the words faded away, new ones appeared that said,

_Try not to look too extravagantly beautiful, Bella. The last thing I need is paranoia that some pimple-faced teenager has earned your affections. I have far more important things to worry about._

Bellatrix laughed a little at the contradictions in his words. She grazed her fingers over what he'd written, suddenly feeling her heart break a little bit. She wasn't quite sure what made her write what she did then.

_Did I make you proud? When I killed Artemis_   _Pryce, when I tortured and killed the Prewett girl… did I make you proud of me?_

_Yes._  His reply was very nearly instantaneous. Bellatrix steadied her hand enough to write,

_Well, My Lord, so long as you're proud of me, I certainly have no need of any pimple-faced teenager._

There was a long wait then, and Bellatrix wondered if he was going to respond to her at all. Outside the train compartment window, the countryside thundered past, and with every northward mile she grew farther away from him. Bellatrix tipped her head against the window and sighed, pressing her fingers to the glass as she wished she could move forward through time and skip through this blasted school year. Finally, she glanced down to see her journal had gone black, and when she opened it, Voldemort's neat script said,

_Stay out of trouble as best you can. Don't get yourself expelled over reekberries. Attend Quidditch matches and balls and your classes, and send me all pertinent information. When I tell you to do so, come to me. Your necklace should allow you to do so. Make it through June, and then your master will have his most beloved servant back for good._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_5 September 1969_

"Oh, Bella. That just isn't fair!"

"What's not fair?" Bellatrix whirled around from her mirror to see Dahlia, Ophelia, and Fiona staring at her like she had three heads. She glanced self-consciously down at her form-fitting black off-the-shoulder gown with its airy black lace overlay. "Something wrong?"

"You make us all look like hideous hags! That's what's wrong!" Fiona Macnair seemed genuinely indignant, and Ophelia admitted,

"I do feel rather frumpy now."

"You look pretty," Bellatrix said. "You all do."

Fiona had chosen a knee-length royal purple satin dress, whilst Ophelia was in blood red chiffon and Dahlia had selected an emerald green sheath. Bellatrix looked back at the mirror and adjusted her hair; she'd pulled her curls halfway back and had smoothed the look with a potion.

"That necklace is stunning," Ophelia noted. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh… this." Bellatrix touched the silver, diamond, and onyx necklace the Dark Lord had given her. She swallowed hard and said honestly, "It was a gift."

Dahlia and Ophelia gave each other a knowing look, a habit between them that was beginning to annoy Bellatrix. She rolled her eyes and said,

"Let's just go down to the Great Hall, shall we? If I have to go to this stupid ball, I'd like to get it over with."

"I think someone's just angry her much older boyfriend isn't here," grumbled Fiona, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She scoffed and whispered angrily,

"Don't you ever say anything like that again, Fiona."

Ophelia and Dahlia's eyes went wide, and an awkward silence came over the dormitory. Fiona nodded and said simply,

"Sorry."

Bellatrix tried to control her rage, to steady her voice as she said, "Believe me, Fiona… a few years from now, you won't want to have spoken about the Dark Lord like that. Your own father works very diligently for him; I saw it first-hand this summer. If you have nothing reverent to say about the Dark Lord, say nothing at all about him in my presence. Do you understand?"

Fiona's face was white as a sheet as she nodded silently. Dahlia Greengrass let out a nervous little laugh and said,

"Right. So. I am very anxious to go see Rabastan Lestrange. Let's go downstairs so I can do that."

Bellatrix said nothing as she followed the other girls down to the Great Hall. She was surprised to see that Dumbledore had hired the Exploding Erumpents, a popular male foursome who performed head-bopping music. Ophelia and Fiona gasped with excitement when they saw the band, but Bellatrix focused her attention on the place where the teachers had gathered. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn had all clustered together and were discussing something. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at them; they were all outspoken enemies of her master.

She glanced around the room and saw Gideon Prewett dancing with a sixth-year Gryffindor girl. His sister Molly had and Arthur Weasley were a year older than Bellatrix and were gone from Hogwarts now, but both Gideon and Fabian Prewett appeared to be having a good time. How shallow they were, Bellatrix thought. She'd tortured and killed their cousin Ruth over the summer and they didn't seem to care at all. Perhaps, she thought, they hadn't had a close relationship with Ruth. After all, she was much older, and -

"Bellatrix?"

She whirled quickly at the sound of her name and was shocked to see Tarquin Avery standing beside her. He held out a glass of punch, and Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest as she said,

"If you think I'm going to accept a drink from you, Avery, you are a complete lunatic."

"Fair enough." He took the drink back and sighed, his lightly freckled face looking morose. "I wanted to apologise."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Avery licked his bottom lip and said,

"I'd like to say that what I did to you in Potions last year was the result of me being a stupid young boy with a crush, but that would be far too generous. The reality is that I was an awful cad, touching you like that. I more than deserved that Bloody Eye Hex you threw at me. I hope someday you can forgive me."

Bellatrix frowned. Feeling more than a little confused. Tarquin Avery had had the entire previous school term to apologise and hadn't done so. Why was he doing it now? Suddenly Bellatrix understood. She smiled bitterly and noted,

"Your father was one of the ones who brought in the Prewett girl. He told you about it."

Tarquin's pale cheeks flushed red, and he admitted, "He told me very vague… nothing specific, you know, but…"

Now Bellatrix was awfully amused, and she actually let out a caustic laugh as she snatched one of the glasses of punch from Avery. She sipped at it, cocked up an eyebrow, and said, "You're afraid of me, Tarquin."

"Sounds like everyone should be," Avery said in an embarrassed mumble. He shrugged. "I was going to ask you to dance, but -"

"No, thank you." Bellatrix sipped at her punch, and Avery gave a conciliatory nod. He glanced up to the band and said,

"Enjoy yourself tonight, Bellatrix. Again, I'm… very sorry about last year."

"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix sipped more punch, using all the energy she had to suppress a laugh as Tarquin Avery backed away.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_5 September 1969_

_How was the dance?_

Voldemort shut his journal after scribbling the little note to Bellatrix. It was past midnight, and for all he knew she was fast asleep in her dormitory. He himself was more tired than he could remember being after a long day of creating Inferi. He'd killed five Muggles today and morphed them into his servants, planting them in his cave to guard Slytherin's locket. Casting the Killing Curse so much in one day, and then using the powerful magic needed to make Inferi, had drained Voldemort to his core. He sat in his bed, the one he'd shared with Bellatrix for months, propped up on the pillows where her lovely curls had splayed around her pretty face. Voldemort tipped his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, but quickly realised he'd fall asleep if he did that. He blinked a few times and considered dosing himself with Invigoration Draught. But when he saw that his journal had turned black, he picked it up and opened it. His chest pulled a little at the sight of Bellatrix's messy script.

_Well, Tarquin Avery tried to get me to dance with him and apologised for touching my leg last year. Turns out he's completely terrified of me. Oh, well._

Voldemort choked out a little laugh at that, picking up his quill and writing back,  _He should be afraid of you. They all should. You're very scary._

He smirked as he shut his journal and shut his eyes again. He couldn't help it; he was so exhausted he could hardly sit up. Eventually he forced his eyes open again and saw that his journal had gone black.

_You're not afraid of me, Master_ , Bellatrix had written, and Voldemort put his lips in a line as he wrote back,

_Oh, yes, I am. What did you wear to the ball, then?_

He didn't care a lick for fashion, but he wanted to imagine what she'd looked like all dolled up. His frown deepened as he realised so many others had gotten to see her looking pretty, and Voldemort himself had not.

_I wore the black gown with the lace over it, she wrote. The one I wore to my father's birthday party. I pulled half my hair back. Blood red lipstick. I had gloves on to cover my Dark Mark. I let everyone see my serpent necklace._

Voldemort gulped hard, suddenly tempted to tell her to use the powers of her necklace to overcome Hogwarts' anti-Apparition spells and come to him. But he had something special planned for her birthday, so he huffed out a little breath and wrote,

_I'm very certain you were the loveliest person in the room. If you didn't dance with Avery, who did you dance with?_

He sounded like a jealous lover, he knew, but he couldn't care. Not after how much of his magic he'd used today killing Muggles and turning them into Inferi. He was drained, and writing back and forth with Bellatrix was filling him with at least a little energy. He was unpleasantly surprised, though, when her reply came back.

_I danced with Maximus Malfoy, My Lord. He asked, and it seemed ungrateful to say no after a whole summer of living in his uncle's house._

A sudden surge of anger rocked through Voldemort, and his writing was spindly as he quickly wrote,  _You did not owe Abraxas Malfoy's nephew anything. I currently reside in this manor because I so choose, and Abraxas Malfoy, as my servant, gives me what I demand. His nephew is not entitled to put his hands on my -_

His hand froze, for he'd begun to rant on the page, and he had to take a moment to gather himself. He took a few shaking breaths and prepared to write something more controlled, but Bellatrix's answer came in an uncharacteristically neat script.

_I'm very sorry if I've offended you, Master. I beg you to forgive me._

_Stop that,_  he wrote back at once. He was frustrated and the nib of his quill dug hard against the page as he wrote,  _You may dance with whomever you like, but don't do it because of any imagined debt._

He slammed his journal shut and tossed it down on the mattress beside him, leaning more comfortably against the pillows and shutting his eyes. This time, he kept them closed for a good long while and began to fall asleep. He would write to Bellatrix in the morning, he decided, when he wasn't sour from her touching boys her own age and when his energy had been replenished by sleep.

But he suddenly felt a surge at his left wrist, a pulsing pleasant sensation coming from his Dark Mark. His eyes sprang open and he glared at his wrist, half expecting to see that his Mark had gone black. It hadn't; it was the pale pink of its inactive state. But the sensation was quickly turning to pleasure, and when his cock started to go hard, Voldemort snatched at his journal and scribbled furiously,

_What the blazes are you doing?_

There was no immediate response, but the almost overwhelming sensation of pleasure began to fade. Finally words appeared in his journal.

_I was falling asleep, My Lord, and I was rubbing at my Dark Mark. It was comforting for some reason. I'm sorry; have I done something wrong?_

Voldemort's mouth fell open. He blinked quickly as he contemplated the implications of what had happened. Several of his followers had the Dark Mark; Bellatrix was not the only one. The only time he ever felt anything from the others was if they Summoned him through the Mark or if he Summoned them. Yaxley, just yesterday, had been Summoned through the Mark to Malfoy Manor to discuss progress at the Ministry. But Voldemort had never felt any real bond with anyone else through the Mark. Perhaps it was because Bellatrix was so far away, because she loved him, because they had been so physically intimate. Some sort of unique tie had been forged, and it was triggered when she touched the Mark he'd put on her. Curious and vaguely frightened, Voldemort wrote in his journal,

_Do it again. A bit more firmly._

_Yes, My Lord_ , came the immediate response. Voldemort shut his journal and set it aside, shutting his eyes and feeling through the ether as the same pleasant sensation came over him. It was a dull, throbbing sort of arousal that spread from his arm through his veins, and when his cock went hard again, Voldemort's hand drifted into the waistband of his pyjama trousers on instinct. He felt a flash in the pulse as he pulled his trousers down and started to stroke himself. His head was spinning madly, and his breath turned to shallow little pants as stroked his length. He glanced down to see that his Mark had flared scarlet, and he groaned at the sight of that. It kept getting darker, fading through a shade of maroon before settling on black.

Voldemort moaned softly as the delicious sensation grew stronger than ever. He could practically feel Bellatrix now. It was like his hand was her own, like she was the one stroking him. He could very nearly hear the way she whispered the word  _Master_ , just like she'd done all summer in this bed. Everything tightened; his body drew up against itself and the fingers of his left hand clenched around his sheets. He felt another flash in his veins, and then it was as if Bellatrix's quick and desperate breath was really present, warm on the skin of his neck. Voldemort's hand quickened until he'd lost control, and he finally bucked his hips up and cried out,

"Bella!"

She wasn't there to hear him, but as his seed leaped onto his own bare stomach, he had a feeling she could sense that he'd called out for her. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment as he recovered. The powerful sensation that had rocked his body subsided, and when he looked back to his left forearm, his Dark Mark had faded back to pale pink. Voldemort bit so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted the metalling tang of blood. He wondered distantly what sort of a monster he'd created in getting involved at all with Bellatrix, but it seemed it was too late to undo any of it. He reached for his wand with trembling fingers and cleaned himself up, and he was unsurprised to see that his journal was black. He picked it up and was even less surprised to see the five words Bellatrix had written.

_What just happened, My Lord?_

_I don't know,_  he wrote back honestly.  _You were touching your Mark? Nothing more?_

_I thought very clearly about you and touched my Mark. Nothing more, My Lord, she affirmed, and a moment later her oddly shaky script appeared again. Was I the only one who…_

She didn't finish that sentence, and Voldemort huffed in irritated confusion as he wrote quickly, _I made a mess all over myself. I apologise if you weren't somewhere private._

_Our beds have curtains,_  Bellatrix reminded him, and suddenly he was dizzy with the thought of her lying in her bed, stroking her arm and reaching climax because of it. He licked his dry lips and wrote,

_We'll try it from the other side, with me touching my own Mark and thinking about you. Ten o'clock on Tuesday night. I require a physical respite for many reasons._

There was a long pause with no response, and finally Bellatrix's handwriting appeared again. _I hope you're not angry with me, Master, but I quite enjoyed that._

He considered not writing anything back. He considered scolding her more harshly for dancing with the Malfoy boy. He considered burning his journal. But instead he wrote,

_I enjoyed it, as well, but until I understand more about what exactly that connection is, extreme caution is required. Glad you enjoyed your dance. Get some rest._

_Goodnight, My Lord,_  she wrote, and he sighed very deeply as he replied,

_Goodnight, Bella._

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_20 September 1969_

"Not hungry, Bella?" Narcissa looked at her sister across the Slytherin dining table, gesturing to Bellatrix's uneaten stew.

"Cramps," Bellatrix lied. She had, in fact, just finished bleeding the day before, so cramps were nowhere in sight. In truth, she was anxious about the fact that the Dark Lord had asked her to Apparate to Malfoy Manor tonight and return in the early hours of her birthday. She had precisely no interest in dinner when she had that to look forward to.

She'd spent the last few weeks wondering what on Earth had come over the two of them. All she'd done was lie there in her bed, instinctively stroking at her inactive Dark Mark, and an intensely pleasurable sensation had washed over her. When she'd done it with more focus, her body had been driven straight to orgasm without her even touching herself. And when, a few days later, Lord Voldemort had been the one massaging his own Mark, the effect had been even stronger. They hadn't touched the effect again, for Voldemort said he feared the unknown when it came to matters such as this. Until he knew more, he said, they needed to leave well enough alone.

But she was hungry for him now, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. She was anxious to kiss him, to breathe in the scent of him, to ride him on his bed as he stared up at her. Even now, sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Bellatrix found her fingers shaking a little. She was wholly unable to wait any longer. He'd advised staying at Hogwarts until curfew, but she couldn't. She needed to go immediately. Even if she left now, she knew, she'd have less than ten hours with him. Suddenly Bellatrix flew up from where she sat, eliciting a concerned expression from Narcissa. She turned to Dahlia and Ophelia, who were chatting a few seats away, and she said,

"You know, it's painful enough that I think I shall go see Madam Lester. I'm not sure it's ordinary cramps."

"Are you ill, Bella?" asked Ophelia, and Bellatrix shrugged as she said lightly.

"I dunno. I'm sure Madam Lester will be able to tell me. Goodnight."

"Hope you feel better in time for your birthday!" Narcissa called after her, and Bellatrix just nodded as she stalked quickly from the Great Hall. She made her way down to the dungeons, her feet moving faster and faster until she was trotting through the empty Slytherin common room. She went down the corridor that led to the girls' dormitories and entered the seventh-year girls' room. She shut the door and closed her eyes, thinking very hard about Malfoy Manor. If the Dark Lord was right, her necklace ought to allow her to bypass the anti-Apparition charms at Hogwarts as well as at Malfoy Manor.

She whirled to her right, Disapparating and feeling a rush of satisfaction at the tight, black pinching feeling. When she opened her eyes, she was in the bedroom of the Dark Lord's suite at the manor. She grinned and laughed aloud, and then suddenly he appeared in the threshold.

"Bella," he said quietly, a smile coming over his face. He eyes glittered as he admitted, "I hadn't expected you for a few hours."

"I couldn't wait," she told him, and his smile spread. He walked straight toward her and, without another word, seized her face in his hands and kissed her hard. Bellatrix groaned onto his mouth, relishing the taste of him. It had only been three weeks since she'd seen him, but it felt like forever. The feel of his cheeks, scratchy with the first hint of unshaven scruff, was blissful beneath her fingers. His own hands felt like heaven on her face, and Bellatrix nearly cried as his very existence overwhelmed her. When he pulled away, he dragged a thumb under her eye and said,

"It's only a few hours away, so allow me to be the first to wish you a very happy birthday."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. A strange look came over his face, and he informed her,

"I've got a surprise for you. In the drawing room."

Bellatrix furrowed her brows, feeling cautious and curious as she let him take her hand and lead her from the bedroom. She gasped when they walked into the drawing room; there was a blond-haired man in a crumpled heap on the ground.

"Apollo Pryce. Twin brother of Artemis. I'm sure you remember her."

Bellatrix grinned a little as she circled around the unconscious man. "And what has Apollo Pryce done to earn his place in your parlour, My Lord?"

Voldemort shrugged. "He did an interview with the Daily Prophet about his sister. I didn't care for the interview. Oh, and it's your birthday."

"Almost my birthday," Bellatrix corrected him. She pulled her wand out and started to ask, "Can I… do I get to…"

Voldemort nodded. "Do whatever you want with him, Little Thing. He's your birthday present."

Bellatrix felt a flush of excitement come over her. She aimed her wand at Apollo Pryce and murmured, " _Rennervate_."

He woke up then, blinking as he started to pull himself from the rug. Bellatrix immediately began throwing hexes.

_"Persodenti! Oculosanguis! Confrigrossa!"_

Apollo Pryce buckled over where he knelt as all his teeth clattered out of his mouth. He made a tortured sound when the Bloody Eye Hex hit, and suddenly there was blood pouring from him all over the rug. Apollo shrieked when the Broken Bone Hex hit; his arms shattered and went limp. Bellatrix wasn't finished.

_"Crucio!"_

Apollo Pryce shrieked like mad as Bellatrix's curse hit him. He was snared by the web of red light that signaled a successful Cruciatus. He fell over, already greatly weakened by the other hexes Bellatrix had thrown at him. She watched as twitched and screamed, his eyes still gushing blood. His shrieks came from his bleeding, gummy mouth, and there was a heap of teeth on the rug before him. After a while, Bellatrix started to feel fatigued, so she broke the Cruciatus and yelled,

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

There was an explosive flash of green light, and Bellatrix panted as she lowered her wand. Voldemort stalked over to the body and Vanished everything - the corpse, the blood, the teeth. Within a moment everything was gone, and it was as if Apollo Pryce had never existed. Bellatrix pushed her curls from her damp forehead and said in a thirsty voice,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Wicked little thing," he murmured, walking up to her and staring down at her. He took her cheeks in his hands, his wand pressed against her jaw. "Vicious little thing."

Bellatrix's eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself whispering, "I need you inside of me. Please, My Lord."

"Is that your birthday wish, Bella?" he asked, moving his lips to her forehead. "You want your master to take you before you go back to school?"

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, and he chuckled as he said,

"I'm not finished giving you gifts yet. You may have me once I'm through."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix opened her eyes and stared up at him, confused. Hadn't he just given her the most magnificent gift she could be given? But he walked smoothly to the writing desk by the window, pulled open the drawer, and walked back to her with a black box in his hands.

"This doesn't have any special powers, I'm afraid. It's just a plain old… well, you go ahead and open it, then."

Bellatrix nervously cracked open the box, gasping as she pulled out the beautiful bracelet inside. It was a cuff that looped three times round the wrist, and it was shaped like a serpent. At one end was the serpent's head, and at the other end was its tail. The silver rope in between looked just like her necklace, as did the snake's onyx eyes.

"I had the bracelet and the necklace made at the same time," Voldemort informed her. "So… I've been holding onto that bracelet for some time. Put it on, will you?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix scrambled to slide the bracelet over her hand. She marveled at it as the Dark Lord told her,

"Obviously it's for special occasions. I thought… well, I ought to have given it to you early. I think it would have looked good over your black gloves for that silly dance."

"There's always the Yule Ball," Bellatrix noted, smiling up at him. "And the Christmas party at my parents' house. I wore black gloves to that last year."

"So you did." Voldemort sighed as he dragged his thumb over Bellatrix's hand. "That was the first time I kissed you, I think."

"It was, Master," Bellatrix nodded. She bravely pasted a smile on her face and noted, "Only three months until the Christmas holidays. And we're in Hogsmeade next month."

"Bella." His voice sounded odd then, a little cracked, as if he was in pain. He made a frustrated little sound and informed her, "I don't want to think about how long you'll be away. I want to think about the fact that you're here now. Take your clothes off. Slowly."

She obeyed, stripping off her black work robe and placing it over the back of the armchair beside her. Voldemort did the same, taking off his own black robe to reveal his black linen shirt and matching tie beneath. Bellatrix's heart sped up a little when she saw that he had the tie bar on she'd given him. Both of them took of their ties and shirts, and Bellatrix unzipped her pleated grey skirt as Voldemort made a hungry little sound. She kicked off her shoes and rolled down her stockings, and then she stripped off her knickers and unclasped her bra.

By the time she stood completely naked, Voldemort was before her in nothing but his trousers. He stepped up to her and gently cupped one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing a little as he bent to kiss her. Bellatrix's fingers went on instinct to the placket of his trousers, and she started to unbutton them. He pushed her hand away and shook his head.

"One more gift before you take that thing out," he told her. He jerked his head toward his bedroom and told her, "Go lie down."

Bellatrix felt nervous all of a sudden, but she did as he commanded and made her way into the bedroom. She scrambled up onto the brocade bedding and lay back against the pillows, picking at the covers as she stared at the ceiling. She'd tortured and killed a man tonight, and the exhilaration of that was still strong in her veins. But she was also anxious here on her master's bed, for she was always at his mercy.

"Close your eyes," he said, and Bellatrix jolted as she looked down to see him in the doorway. He still had his trousers on, and he raised his eyebrows as he repeated, "Close your eyes, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord." She tipped her head back again and wrenched her eyes shut, her heart thudding in her chest as the bed shifted a little. He'd climbed onto the mattress, she could tell, and suddenly her knees were being gently pulled apart. Bellatrix's eyes sprang open to see that the Dark Lord had arranged himself between her legs. He gave her a warning look and informed her,

"If I have to tell you to close your eyes again, I'll use a Blinding Hex on you."

"Mmph." Bellatrix shut her eyes and gripped the blanket at the sudden feel of his warm breath on her womanhood. Her back arched a little of its own accord, out of anticipation, because all he was doing was gently touching his lips to the insides of her thighs. Bellatrix squeezed her eyes shut more tightly, her hands gripping the blankets as her master's tongue lathed in one long stroke up her thigh. When he reached her sensitive nub, he suckled a little, and Bellatrix moaned. His hands began to rub her thighs, and his tongue began to work in long, slow movements that culminated with him pulling her nub between his lips. Over and over again he made the motion, and Bellatrix's hands went to his hair as she found herself whispering,

"Don't stop, My Lord. Oh, please don't stop. Don't stop."

"Look at me," she heard him say suddenly, and she opened her eyes. When she saw him staring up at her from where he was lying on his stomach, she nearly lost herself. His eyes were shining with a fierce arousal, and he kept looking at Bellatrix as he dragged his tongue around her again. Then he lowered his gaze and sucked hard on the most sensitive spot, and Bellatrix bucked her hips up against his mouth. He did it again, and the third time he did, Bellatrix lost control. His tongue was inside of her as she came, and he growled against her as she clenched and gasped. As Bellatrix lay recovering, her chest heaving with her breath and her skin tingling, Voldemort yanked his trousers down and snatched his wand off the bed beside him.

" _Nongravidare_ ," he mumbled quickly, setting the wand aside again as the spell took hold with a cold tremor in Bellatrix's abdomen. He pushed his trousers the rest of the way down and kicked them away, quickly crawling up toward Bellatrix and aiming himself between her legs. He pushed in and began bucking his hips quickly, seizing her wrists in one hand and pawing at her breast with the other.

"What a vicious little creature you are," he told her again, sounding a little unhinged with want as his hips slapped against Bellatrix's. She arched up toward him, her breasts nearly meeting his chest as he filled her over and over again. He huffed and wrenched his eyes shut and mused, "Vicious and beautiful and mine. My little thing. My Bella. Ohh…"

His hips stilled, for apparently he'd gotten so worked up using his mouth on her that he had almost nothing left to spare. He collapsed onto his hands, releasing her wrists and her breasts as he crushed his mouth onto hers. She tasted herself on him, which seemed odd at first. Then she realised just what he'd done to her, and she moaned like a whore against him.

"Happy birthday, Bella," he whispered, pulling out of her and lying beside her. He pulled her up against him, and his throat bobbed as he said, "It would be prudent if you were back before anyone notices you're gone. Stay for an hour and then go back to Hogwarts."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix glanced out toward the drawing room where she'd done awful things to Apollo Pryce. She looked at her wrist, where her new serpent cuff was glittering. And she felt his seed leaking between her thighs. Utterly overwhelmed by him, she kissed his ribs and breathed in the scent and feel of him, and she murmured, "Thank you, My Lord."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_6 October 1969_

"Enter."

Voldemort shut the book he'd been reading, a tome about the uses of unicorn blood, and he pushed it aside as the door to his office opened. Tudor Yaxley and Abraxas Malfoy came walking inside, and Voldemort shut and warded the door behind them. He gestured toward the two chairs on the other side of his desk, and the other wizards mumbled their thanks as they took their seats.

"Go ahead," Voldemort said brusquely, for this was a weekly meeting set up to discuss happenings at the Ministry.

"My Lord, there are murmurings at the Ministry about unrest among Squibs," said Tudor Yaxley. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and choked out a little laugh.

"Squibs," he repeated. "They're still convinced they deserve protections and rights, are they? Useless, utterly useless, the lot of them."

"Of course they are, My Lord," said Abraxas Malfoy, "but Yaxley and I see an opportunity here, if the Squibs decide to be bold enough to march."

Voldemort smirked. "Destroy them. Show them how weak they are."

"Precisely, Master." Yaxley nodded and said, "Malfoy and I can prepare a contingent of at least thirty or forty Purebloods to have at the ready if the Squibs decide to march. If they do so, the best guess is that they'll do it in Diagon Alley to make a statement."

"I can't be present," Voldemort pointed out. "Not in full view of Aurors and Ministry officials. Anyone else can be taken to Azkaban as a casualty, but it is critical I do not expose myself in such massive public gatherings."

"Understood, My Lord," Tudor Yaxley agreed. He glanced to Abraxas Malfoy and noted, "Malfoy and I would be glad to spearhead this."

Voldemort nodded. "I want broken windows. Fires. Broken furniture. Injuries to the Squibs bad enough to send them to St Mungo's but not enough to imprison my soldiers. Just a fun little riot to break up their ridiculous march."

"That sounds very reasonable, My Lord," said Abraxas Malfoy. "We will, of course, notify you the very instant we have any additional information."

"Get me a list of soldiers you intend on taking to Diagon Alley," said Voldemort. He pinched his lips, considering whether he ought to have them put Bellatrix on that list. But if she was caught rioting, she'd be expelled from school in an instant. He sighed and said, "No Hogwarts students. Not worth the risk. Not over Squibs."

"We have plenty of adults, My Lord," said Malfoy, sounding a bit perplexed. Voldemort wanted to shoot back that Bellatrix Black was probably capable of breaking up a Squibs' rights march all by herself, but he bit his tongue. He just nodded and said,

"Keep me updated. Anything else?"

"Nothing else, My Lord." Yaxley shook his head, and Voldemort waved his hand dismissively toward the door. The other wizards rose and bowed deeply before making their way silently from the office. Only after they'd gone did Voldemort notice that his journal had turned black. He picked it up from his desk and opened it, his eyebrows going up when he saw the lengthy message from Bellatrix.

_My Lord, I am very sorry to report that I got myself into rather serious trouble today. Fabian Prewett confronted me in the corridor and accused me of being loyal to you, and then he went on and on (loudly) about how his cousin Ruth had been murdered (by you, according to him). He was making a very big scene, and so I put him into a full Body-Bind Curse to shut him up. Of course, that only made a bigger scene, and McGonagall practically exploded with rage at me. I had fifty points taken from Slytherin, so now all the Slytherins are angry with me, and I've got four detentions in a row to serve in the Forbidden Forest gathering doxy droppings for the Potions stores. I thought I ought to let you know. I'm sorry._

Voldemort had a rather broad smirk on his face by the time he finished reading all that. The words started to fade away, and Voldemort reached for his black quill. He scribbled into the journal,

_Bella, once again I fail to see any wrongdoing on your part. Sorry you have to pick up doxy droppings in the forest. As always, your loyalty is appreciated. Good thing you didn't correct him about who killed his cousin._

He set his quill down and pushed up the left sleeve of his woolen tunic. He began to rub at his Dark Mark, comfort washing over him as he did. He knew she would feel it, too, and he hoped that at least a little bit of her angst about getting in trouble would be assuaged. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the erection that was burgeoning in his trousers. He focused on the idea of Bellatrix, on the way she'd tasted when he'd used his mouth on her. He imagined slamming into her from behind, suckling hard on her breast, and he moaned softly where he sat. Before he knew what was happening, he could feel himself spilling in his trousers, so suddenly and unexpectedly that he swore under his breath. He pulled his fingers from his arm and snatched his wand from his desk, siphoning up the mess he'd made in his trousers. He caught his breath, pulling his sleeve down and watching as rickety-looking words appeared on the page.

_Well, I just had an orgasm sitting in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Bellatrix wrote. Thankfully I sit in the back row. Pretty sure Dahlia thinks I had a seizure._

Voldemort coughed out a laugh and quickly wrote, _Sorry. I didn't think you'd be writing to me in lessons._

_I was pretending to take notes,_ she replied, her writing a bit more steady now. After a moment, new words appeared _. Here are my notes - The last known Erkling attack was_ against  _a little boy called Bruno Schmidt, who saved himself by bashing the Erkling over the head with a collapsible cauldron._

Voldemort smirked and wrote, T _here are people like you and me in this world and the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons are about Erklings?_

_I'm not actually that sure what we're meant to be learning today,_ Bellatrix quickly wrote back. _I was too busy desperately trying not to moan and squirm in my seat._

Voldemort laughed a little, pulling open his desk drawer and taking out the photograph of Bellatrix. He stared at the picture, at the way she quirked up a halfhearted smile and then lowered her eyes. He dusted his fingertips over the image of the lips he liked to kiss, over the cheeks that went pink whenever he touched her. He shut his eyes and realised how strong a hold Bellatrix had over him. Then, very suddenly, he felt frightened.

Too close. He'd let her get too close. He wanted her too badly. She was too much. For a moment, he contemplated starting the photograph on fire or tearing it up. Instead, he shoved the photograph back into the drawer, and he picked up his quill.

I will be extraordinarily busy for the next few weeks, he lied, his writing neat and tight. Unless it is a dire emergency, do not write to me. No teasing one another with our Marks; I haven't the time for it right now. I am exceptionally busy.

He didn't wait for her reply. He shut the journal and put it in the drawer with her photograph. He closed the drawer and murmured, "Colloportus."

He needed to remove himself from her for a while, he decided. He was entirely too invested in the meaningless day-to-day of her life at school. He was far too invested in joking with her, in sensing her physically even over hundreds of miles. He had Squibs' marches to worry about. He had a Ministry to conquer. He had followers to gain, money to raise. He couldn't be as addicted to Bellatrix as he knew he'd become. Surely they would both be perfectly functional without the other until Christmas. If he couldn't go a few months without speaking to her, then she had become a threat to his focus. If she was a threat to his focus, she was a threat to his power, and she would need to be eliminated.

All Voldemort could hope was that he was stronger than that. With all that he was, he did not want to eliminate Bellatrix Black.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_18 December 1969_

Bellatrix studied herself in the full-length mirror beside her bed. The gown she'd chosen for the Yule Ball was a flowing silk concoction of the deepest green, with an overlay of black lace on the high-necked bodice and long sleeves. She'd straightened her hair and pulled it up into a stylish twist behind her head, and in her ears were emerald earrings her father had gifted her a few years earlier.

She glanced toward her trunk and wondered whether she ought to take out the serpent necklace and bracelet. But she hadn't worn either piece in over a month, and she doubted she would ever wear them again. After so many weeks of compulsively checking her journal and always finding it blank and green, Bellatrix had given up. Her master had forsaken her. He no longer wanted her. For some reason she could not discern, she'd made him angry, and she'd fallen out of favour. For weeks after that realisation had set in, Bellatrix had mourned as though someone dear to her had died. Then she'd given up; she'd tried to keep going in her lessons and to maintain some semblance of a social life. Those efforts had only partly worked.

Now she stared at herself in the mirror and knew that Tarquin Avery was waiting for her in the Slytherin common room. She'd agreed to be his date to the Yule Ball almost out of spite. She had so many memories of speaking ill of Tarquin with Lord Voldemort, but Lord Voldemort wasn't here to dance with her. She didn't suppose she would ever dance with him again.

Bellatrix popped her red lipstick into her black silk clutch and walked briskly from the dormitory, making her way down the corridor and out to the common room. Tarquin Avery had elegant tuxedo-style dress robes on, and his pale face lit up when he saw Bellatrix come walking out. He smiled a little and told her,

"You look splendid."

"As do you," Bellatrix said tightly, taking the arm he offered. "Shall we go?"

The Great Hall had been outfitted in sparkling gold and burgundy decorations, and a string quartet in the corner played Christmas tunes that filled the space. Avery glanced about and asked,

"Would you like an eggnog? Or… punch, or anything?"

"Hot punch would be nice," Bellatrix nodded. "Thank you."

She let Avery go off to fetch the punch, and she noticed Fiona Macnair watching her from across the room. She and Fiona had not gotten along well as of late; the other girl had seemed unnaturally interested in the details of Bellatrix losing touch with the Dark Lord. For a few days, Bellatrix had wondered whether Fiona had taken up with the Dark Lord herself. But she was too empty-headed for him, Bellatrix knew. It was Fiona's father who was the loyal servant of Voldemort, not Fiona herself. Still, Bellatrix suspected that everything she did was being reported to Macnair, who would in turn report to Lord Voldemort. Even hundreds of miles away, even with her journal empty, he could still watch her. Bellatrix sighed a little at that and then accepted the cup of punch that Avery brought her.

She sipped at it and studied his face for a moment. He wasn't an unattractive boy, she pondered. He was gangly and pale, but his features were handsome enough. He'd been crass and pushy with her the previous year, but he'd apologised and seemed more than willing to try again in a more decent fashion. Bellatrix set her punch down on the table beside her and said suddenly,

"I'd like to dance, Tarquin. Will you dance?"

He quirked up half his mouth. "When I asked you in September to dance with me, you flatly rejected me. Has something changed?"

"Much has changed," Bellatrix said honestly. She dragged her scarlet lips together and said again, "Let's dance."

"All right, then." Avery grinned and seemed quite pleased as he and Bellatrix walked to the dance floor. He took Bellatrix's hand in his and put the other to her back, and as she touched his shoulder, she thought perhaps he was worthy of at least a little attention. They began to sway, and Avery licked his bottom lip nervously.

"My father wrote to me and said there are to be no trials for anyone involved in the Squib incident."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded, raising her eyebrows. "Not even Rodolphus?"

"Apparently not," said Avery. Rodolphus Lestrange had been one of the leaders of the riots that clashed with the Squibs' marches the month before, and he'd been arrested after setting four shops in Diagon Alley on fire. Bellatrix nodded up to Avery and said,

"That's a relief. It would have been silly to lose anybody over Squibs, you know."

"Very silly." Avery was silent for a while then, finding a rhythm with Bellatrix as the next song started. His pale cheeks went a little pink as he stared at Bellatrix, and she realised he was deeply attracted to her. She was thrown, suddenly, to the Dark Lord's birthday almost a full year earlier, when he'd dragged his fingers up her leg and asked, Is this where he touched you? The Avery boy?

It took everything Bellatrix had to keep dancing then, her chest physically hurting again as she reminded herself for the hundredth time that the Dark Lord no longer desired her. She'd spent a whole year communicating with him, months living with him, but he didn't want her. Bellatrix's breath shook as she sighed, and she murmured up to Avery,

"Speaking of silly… this ball is very silly. There is… there are empty classrooms."

"Bellatrix?" Avery shook his head in confusion, his steps faltering. He gulped, his thin neck bobbing, and he shrugged as he said, "Forgive me, but I thought you were… his. Rodolphus Lestrange told me you were, that there was only so close to you anyone was allowed to get."

Bellatrix considered her words carefully. "I am his most devoted servant, and I always will be. But I am not his companion. Now, do you want to go find an empty classroom?"

Avery blinked quickly and nodded. Bellatrix stepped away from him and walked wordlessly toward the large doors of the Great Hall. She wordlessly walked up the staircase beside the hall, her heels clacking on the stone floor. On the first floor, she knew there was a classroom that had been used decades earlier when Ancient Runes had been popular enough to have its own department. She found the door and unlocked it with her wand, pushing it open and lighting the sconces on the walls. Tarquin Avery had followed her in, and when he shut the door, Bellatrix locked it.

"What if we get caught?" he asked nervously, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"Can't be any worse than when you felt me up in lessons and I hit you with a Bloody Eye Hex."

He chewed his lip and stepped closer to her. "I really am sorry about that."

She nodded. "So am I."

Avery tucked his wand away and reached tentatively for Bellatrix's cheeks. He was still afraid of her, she knew, so she reached up and covered her hands with his as she noted,

"You've been pursuing me since we were third-years."

"Mm-hmm." Avery's cheeks flushed dark, and he gave a bitter little smile as he said, "You've been rejecting me the whole time. And yet I persisted, sometimes against the logic of propriety."

"I'm not rejecting you now," Bellatrix said. She knew this was nothing but a rebound, nothing but a salve to help a little with the gaping wound the Dark Lord had left inside of her. She felt filthy and anxious as Avery's hands went to her waist and pulled her closer. When he bent to kiss her, his tongue felt slimy and undesirable. She let him into her mouth and wrenched her eyes shut, trying desperately not to think of Voldemort. Instead she reached up to hold Avery's face, and she kissed him back for all he was worth.

Soon she found herself backing up until she was against the stone wall of the empty classroom, and Avery was grinding his hips against her belly. Bellatrix felt a surge of revulsion at the sensation of his erection on her abdomen, and it was all she could do to keep from crying. She let out a little sound of desperation on his mouth, but he interpreted it as a moan and kissed her harder. Suddenly Bellatrix couldn't take it anymore, and she pushed Avery's chest gently. She shook her head and whispered,

"I can't. I can't do any of this. The ball, this stupid classroom. I can't do it."

Tarquin Avery pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her lipstick from his mouth as he mumbled, "I'm not fool enough not to know what this is, Bellatrix. He turned you away, so you came trotting to the boy who's pursued you for years. I don't blame you one bit. I'm sorry I seized the opportunity. Shall I walk you down to the common room?"

"No. I'd like to go myself." Bellatrix slipped by him, feeling compelled as she unlocked the door to say over her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Tarquin."

He shrugged and said with a wry smile, "I've been trying for years, Bella. I'm used to your rejection."

"Perhaps you ought to stop trying," Bellatrix suggested, and Avery shrugged.

"That's what Rodolphus Lestrange said. He told me he'd tried to make you his, but he could tell that there would never be anyone else but Him for you. The Dark Lord."

Bellatrix felt tears spill from her eyes, and she made no attempt to stop them. She just nodded and opened the door, moving like a wraith through the corridors and down into the dungeons.

* * *

_Black Family Residence_

_Kensington, London_

_21 December 1969_

Voldemort stood outside the elegant townhouse and considered simply leaving. But he'd told Cygnus Black III he would come to the Christmas party, and there were soldiers at the gathering he hadn't seen since before the Squib marches. He needed to be here, to pay his respects to those who had served him and continued serving him. She would be here, he knew, but he would simply ignore her.

The last few months without Bellatrix had made Voldemort feel weak and stupid. He'd often dreamed of her, waking up with his hands clutching at the spot on the bed where she'd spent her summer. Sometimes he'd be working in his office and would become thoroughly distracted by memories of her. The sight of her torturing and killing, the smell of rose in her hair. The taste of her lips and the feel of her hands. Sometimes at night he would take his journal out of the desk drawer and stare at it for a long while before putting it back. He had no desire for any other woman, and he'd never felt lonely before. But now, without Bellatrix, he did feel lonely and empty, as if some very important part of his soul had been ripped away. This was different from making Horcruxes. He was barely functional without the part of himself that she owned now. Without Bellatrix, the Dark Lord could not properly ascend.

Yet he knew that if he went simpering back to her like some pining teenaged boyfriend, he'd be worse off than ever. So he would simply ignore her, and as he raised his fist to knock on the door, he resolved not to talk to her at all.

The door creaked open and the Blacks' wizened House Elf, Marley, gestured grandly inside the house. "Welcome, My Lord," said the elf graciously. She wandered over to the parlour where the chatter of conversation could be heard, and she announced, "I present the Dark Lord himself!"

The conversations died at once, and Voldemort was greeted with bows and curtsies from all in attendance. He gave a polite nod to the group, trying very hard to keep his eyes away from Bellatrix. But as the conversations started back up, his gaze landed on her. She was standing in the corner with Dahlia Greengrass, Rabastan Lestrange, and Rodolphus Lestrange. She was wearing a shimmering black gown that hugged her body just so, with off-the shoulder long sleeves and her curls tied neatly over one shoulder. She looked so pretty that Voldemort's breath was abruptly stolen from him, and her painted lips fell open as she stared at him across the room.

"Happy Christmas, My Lord!" the boisterous voice of Roger Lestrange, father of Rabastan and Rodolphus, came from just beside Voldemort. He turned and acknowledged Roger Lestrange with a little nod.

"I heard you did fine work the day of the Squibs' marches," Voldemort said politely. "For that, you have my gratitude."

"It was my pleasure, My Lord," said Lestrange. He smirked and held up his glass of Champagne. "A pity, really, that the poor little Squibs can't even fight back once you start throwing hexes at them, eh?"

He laughed with the half-drunken voice of someone who was three glasses of wine into the party. Voldemort just nodded, realising he wasn't going to keep himself away from her. He turned to Roger Lestrange once more and said,

"Excuse me."

"Of course, Master." Roger bowed as Voldemort walked briskly across the parlour. Bellatrix seemed to be half-listening to a conversation between her friends, but when Voldemort walked up, everyone went silent. Dahlia Greengrass looked very frightened, but Rodolphus Lestrange said bravely,

"Happy Christmas, My Lord."

"Miss Black, I need to speak with you privately," Voldemort said, ignoring Lestrange entirely. Bellatrix just nodded and gave an apologetic look to the others. She led Voldemort out of the parlour, and he silently followed her up the stairs. She led him down a dimly-lit corridor and opened a door on the left, and as soon as he stepped inside, he realised it was her bedroom. It was an elegant space of midnight blue and the darkest wood. She lit the lamps on the wall, and when Voldemort shut the door behind him, she looked like she was halfway between crying and running away.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said, feeling his heart accelerate in his chest. He would not come crawling back to her, he reminded himself. He simply would not. Instead, he crossed his arms over his dress robes and scolded her, "You're not wearing your necklace."

"No, My Lord," she acknowledged, lowering her eyes. "I haven't worn it since November. It's here in my trunk, if you think I should -"

"No." Voldemort felt sick all of a sudden, but he needed to hit her again with an accusation to keep himself from telling her how desolate he'd been without her. He sniffed lightly and looked at his fingernails as he said, "Macnair informed me - by way of his daughter - that you attended the Hogwarts Yule Ball with the very same Tarquin Avery who assaulted you last year. And then you left the dance with him to sneak off. I must say, Bellatrix, that I am rather alarmed by your lack of judgment."

"I was just trying…" Bellatrix's voice cracked a little, and he studied her face as she stared at the ground. "I was just trying to cover up the pain, My Lord. It didn't work; when he kissed me, I pushed him away. He felt disgusting. But I couldn't understand. I still don't quite understand. Please, Master, will you please just tell me what I did to anger you so greatly?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks now, and she sniffed a little as one tumbled to the ground. Voldemort reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his handkerchief, which he held out to Bellatrix wordlessly. She took it and dabbed at her tears as she mumbled her thanks. Finally he felt something snap inside of him, and he barked,

"Look at me."

She did, raising her pretty wet eyes and making his chest ache in doing so. Voldemort took a shaking breath and said helplessly,

"I won't do this anymore. For months I have attempted to convince myself that your presence in my life was a silly distraction, that you had grown close enough to be a serious hindrance to me gaining authority. I had given entirely too much of myself to you, I thought. I had let you see too much. I had let you get far too familiar. And so, I looked at you like a gangrenous limb to be severed for safety's sake. Only, it hasn't gone anything like that, Bella. I can not… I will not pretend anymore. I require your companionship, and that confession is not something that ever leaves this room. Understood?"

Bellatrix's lips fell open, and she nodded silently. He stared into her eyes for a moment and watched as she registered that he still cared for her. Without another word, he took her face in his hands and leaned down, crushing her mouth with his. She stumbled backward as he pushed her toward the bed, and from downstairs he could hear people starting to sing Christmas carols together. He kissed her harder than ever, feeling her fingers shake wildly as they curled around his jaw. Bellatrix tasted sweet, just like she'd always tasted, and he groaned against her as her tears continued unabated. She flopped backward onto the bed when he shoved her, and she didn't protest one bit when he dragged her to the edge of the bed and hiked up her shimmering gown.

His fingers went at once to the placket of his trousers, and he felt everything come alive within him as he realised she was his again. He heard her mumble a contraceptive spell on herself, and she set her wand down on the blue coverlet beside her. Voldemort stroked at his cock a few times and wrenched Bellatrix's knickers aside, plunging himself into her without any foreplay whatsoever. She didn't seem to need any; she was sopping wet for him. He drove himself hard into her body, leaning down to kiss her while he bucked against her over and over. Bellatrix moaned like a complete harlot, and Voldemort was suddenly grateful that everyone was singing so raucously downstairs. She was snug and warm around him, and within just a few moments he was spilling himself inside of Bellatrix and gasping as he ripped his mouth from hers. He kissed her neck through his climax and felt her go tense, her back arching up as her hands squeezed the back of his robe. He managed a few more pumps of his half-hard cock, and that seemed to push Bellatrix over the edge.

"Ohh, My Lord," she mumbled, mussing her hair as she drove her head back onto the blanket. "My Lord… I thought I'd never feel you again."

He wanted to tell her she was a foolish little thing to think such a thing, but he'd given her every indication that he was done with her. He petted her hair now and kissed the skin of her neck as he whispered,

"You're mine, aren't you?"

"I belong to the Dark Lord," she reminded him as he pulled back and met her gaze. "Wholly and completely."

He shut his eyes and nodded, thinking he'd been a complete idiot to deprive himself of her for so long. They put themselves to rights, though it took more than a few cleansing and neatening spells to do so, and as they prepared to go back downstairs, Voldemort said cautiously,

"Perhaps… you might consider wearing your necklace. Or your bracelet."

"Or both?" Bellatrix smiled shyly and bent down before her school trunk. She unlatched it and opened it, carefully pulling out a wooden jewelry box. She opened it and pulled out the serpent necklace and matching bracelet. She slid the bracelet onto her wrist, put the wooden box away and shut the trunk, and stood. She started to wrap the necklace around the neck that was bared by her off-the-shoulder gown, but Voldemort stepped up and gently pushed her hands away. He laced the serpent's tail through the clasp and brushed his knuckles over Bellatrix's collarbone.

"That's better," she whispered up to him, and he nodded.

"Much better."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_31 December 1969_

"Hello." Voldemort's eyes were a bit glassy where he stood in the threshold of his suite, and Bellatrix knew he'd begun his New Year's drinking early. Bellatrix followed him into his room, carefully holding the twine-bound brown box she'd brought from her parents' house.

"Happy birthday, My Lord," she said, and he sipped from the whiskey in his hand as he nodded. He shut the door behind her, and she felt it ward up to give them true privacy. The Wizarding Wireless on the mantle was playing the New Year's Eve broadcast; there was only an hour until midnight, and the broadcasters were discussing the end of the decade. Bellatrix sighed and studied her master. He was wearing a white shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he had on a black tie with the bar Bellatrix had gotten him the year before.

"What's in the box?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred. Bellatrix grinned and pulled at the twine. She opened the box and held it up a little for Voldemort to see.

"A cake," he said, his eyebrows going up and his mouth curling into a happy smile. He met Bellatrix's eyes, sipped from his whiskey, and asked, "Been practising your baking charms?"

"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix walked over to the dining table and set the vanilla buttercream cake down. She'd made a test one ahead of time, and all she could hope was that this one, cleanly frosted with dark green and silver accents, was tasty. She aimed her wand at the little hutch in the dining nook and Summoned two plates, forks, and napkins. She raised her eyes to the Dark Lord as she used Magic to slice up the cake, and he asked her,

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll have what you're having," Bellatrix grinned, but Voldemort shook his head and set his whiskey down.

"Whiskey will overwhelm the undoubtedly delicious flavours of your baking. We'll have Champagne."

He gestured to the bottle of Champagne that was chilling in a silver bucket on the table. He flicked his own wand a few times until two crystal flutes came soaring from the hutch and landed delicately on the table. The Champagne uncorked itself and poured itself into the two flutes before resuming its place in the bucket. Voldemort handed one flute of Champagne to Bellatrix, and she said again,

"Happy birthday, My Lord."

"Happy New Year," he added, touching his glass to hers. She drank, but he hesitated. He glanced around the room and his face went a bit serious as he said, "I was a fool to deny myself of you. You make me happy."

He'd already had a lot of whiskey, she knew, otherwise he wouldn't be talking like this. Bellatrix stared into her flute of Champagne and told him,

"I'm sorry I didn't bring you anything better than a cake. I didn't have much time to… well… with the Christmas holidays, and…"

He scoffed. "How were you meant to shop for a birthday gift for a man who was completely ignoring you?" He drank deeply from his Champagne and glanced to the two plates of cake, and he slurred, "I'll take a homemade dessert over a regular present, anyway."

Bellatrix had to suppress her grin at the evidence of his drinking. He was being almost silly with her, and she rather liked it. She handed him a plate of cake, and they both set their drinks down to take a bite. Bellatrix breathed a sigh of relief when she tasted the warm vanilla flavour of the cake and frosting. It had come out just right. The Dark Lord made an almost sexual sound as he swallowed one bite and took another. He reached for his Champagne, swigged from it, and informed Bellatrix,

"That… is very good cake, Bella."

"I'm glad you like it, My Lord," she said. She contentedly finished her slice and sipped from her Champagne, but Voldemort finished both before her and picked up his whiskey again.

"I don't know why I'm drinking so much tonight," he mused, pacing with uneven steps. He sipped again, and his glass refilled itself with whiskey. Bellatrix watched as the bottle on the low table in the parlour went down a few centimetres. Once again, she was impressed by his magic. Once he'd taken another sip, he continued, "I started drinking two hours ago because I realised how much I was looking forward to you coming over here. You're addicted to her, I told myself. Then I drank quite a lot of whiskey and you brought me cake."

Bellatrix's eyebrows went up as she registered just how intoxicated he was. She winced a little when he swigged down the entire rest of his tumbler of whiskey and pulled a face at the burn. He set the glass down as it refilled itself, and he put his hands on his hips as he looked Bellatrix up and down.

"Dance with me before I'm too sloppy to do it without falling over," he commanded her. He aimed his wand at the Wizarding Wireless, and the station changed to one playing instrumental music. Bellatrix walked over to where the Dark Lord stood, and she let him slip her hand into his. She sighed a little when his hand settled against the small of her back. They hadn't danced in months, and only now did it really and truly sink in that she'd missed him to her core. She put her head against his chest for a moment and informed him,

"Every night I'd fall asleep staring at my journal, hoping it would turn black. It never did."

"Yes, well, as I've already stated, I was a fool," Voldemort said rather sharply. "It's all over now. Dance with me."

Bellatrix stood up and swayed with him to the gentle, slow beat of the jazz on the radio. She stared up at his glassy eyes and whispered,

"I shouldn't have let Tarquin Avery kiss me. I'm sorry, My Lord."

He scowled. "Do you really think I want to hear about that stupid boy on my birthday of all days, Bella?"

"Sorry," she said again, lowering her eyes. He growled in frustration and nearly barked at her,

"Stop apologising! For Merlin's sake, Bella, just…" He stopped dancing and took her face in his hands, kissing her so hard that she gasped and stumbled backward. He quickly slid one hand behind the back of her black velvet dress to catch her. He pulled her tightly against him, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he groaned. Bellatrix felt everything go warm inside of her; her ears were ringing and she could hear her own pulse. She wanted him so badly right now that she could hardly breathe. Her hands went to his trousers and started to unbutton them, and Voldemort's own hand migrated from her back to the hem of her dress. He put his hand on her backside, caressing her through the thin lace of her knickers, and he yanked his mouth from hers as he stumbled away toward an armchair.

He sat, tipping his head back and looking more drunk than ever as he struggled to finish unbuttoning his trousers. Bellatrix helped him, and when he pulled himself out and started stroking, she asked,

"Shall I use my mouth, My Lord?"

"Hmm-mm." He shook his head no, still stroking himself as he stared at Bellatrix. His voice was blurry as he commanded her, "I want you to strip for me. Take everything off. Slowly. Very slowly."

He put his hands on the arms of his chair and let his cock stand at attention. Bellatrix nodded and reached for the hem of her dress. She adjusted the way she was standing, putting one foot a little in front of the other and suddenly feeling glad she'd worn high heels. She pulled at the hem of her black velvet dress with both hands, slowly guiding it up her thigh as she met the Dark Lord's eyes. He blinked slowly, and she knew the last tumbler of whiskey he'd swigged was settling into his veins.

Bellatrix released the hem of her dress and lazily brought her hands up her body. She pulled at the pins binding her curls into a bun at the back of her head, and when she shook her hair loose, Voldemort grunted softly. She set the pins down on the coffee table and saw his hand drift back to his rigid cock. Bellatrix raked her curls out of her face with one hand and pulled the bottom of her dress up with the other.

"You didn't have a past life doing this professionally, did you?" asked Voldemort, his slurred voice shaking a little. Bellatrix shook her head and watched his thumb drift over his tip. She swallowed hard and silently hoped she'd have some use for the contraceptive spell she'd put on herself before coming here. As she pulled her velvet dress up and over her head, she felt herself go utterly wet between her legs. She let the dress fall to the ground beside her, standing there in her lingerie and high black heels as she took a step closer to the Dark Lord's chair.

"I want to see your breasts," he murmured, sucking in air hard when her hands went behind her back and unlatched her black lace bra. She let it fall forward and slowed her movements as she pulled it off one arm and then the other. She held it up for a moment and tipped her head before she dropped it onto her dress. Voldemort thrust his hips up a little, and his cock looked like it was aching for proper attention. He shoved his trousers down a bit and sounded completely sloshed as he said,

"You have pretty breasts. They're small, but they… fit your body. You have a small body, so… they're pretty. Very pretty."

Bellatrix managed not to laugh at him, for she feared his wrath even when he was like this. She murmured some quiet thanks as she played with her own chest, the throbbing in her body continuing as she dragged her thumbs over her nipples and squeezed at her flesh.

"Knickers off," drawled Voldemort, and Bellatrix trailed her hands from her breasts down over her stomach. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the black lace knickers that matched her bra, and she edged them down. She tried desperately to look elegant as she bent over and stepped out of the knickers, though she suspected Voldemort wouldn't have noticed if she'd been clumsy. She stepped out of her high heels and stalked closer to the chair.

"Please, Master, may I…" She gestured vaguely to his throbbing cock and felt her cheeks go hot. He raised one eyebrow and demanded,

"What do you want, Little Thing? Tell me."

"May I please have you inside of me, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he nodded silently. She climbed carefully onto the chair, squeezing her knees between his thighs and the chair itself. She felt him line the tip of his cock up against her, and he only barely had the presence of mind to drawl,

"I need… my wand… need to put a spell on you to…"

"I've already done that, My Lord," she assured him. She sank down onto his cock and he hissed through his teeth, driving his head back against the chair. He felt so good like this, Bellatrix thought. She'd rarely been atop him like this, even over the summer when they'd been physical so often. She liked the feeling of being impaled by his length, filled by his girth. She seized his face in her hands and latched her mouth to his neck, lapping and suckling at the skin there. His hands went to her waist and started to move her up and down. She helped him, bobbing awkwardly until she found a rhythm.

"I'm not ever going to go any demonstrable amount of time without you again," Voldemort said, sounding half-asleep. "I can't do it, Bella. I just can't. I adore you far too much for my own good."

She froze, her lips trembling against his mouth. She forced herself to keep her hips moving, to keep kissing him. He adored her? He'd never said anything like that to her, not even once. His hands slid up her ribcage and rubbed gently at her back as she swayed. Bellatrix tried not to focus on his words, knowing that he was very drunk and that it was the whiskey talking. But it was hard not to listen as he continued,

"Have you any idea how beautiful you are? All the time, not just when you're naked. When… when you're in battle… ungh. Oh, Bella. When you wake in the morning and you haven't… oh, Bella… when you haven't cleaned your teeth yet. When you're dancing with me. When I'm fucking you. All the time. You're so beautiful all the time, and it's high time somebody told you."

Bellatrix suddenly realised why it was he'd drunk so much tonight. After months apart from one another, he'd been frightened of getting too emotional with her tonight. At least this way he could blame the liquor. Bellatrix moved her face back a little to look at him, and she was surprised when he blinked a few times and admitted,

"I'm not going to… to finish inside of you, Bella; I'm too drunk."

She moved a little and let him slide out of her, but she stayed atop him and stroked beneath his eyes with her thumbs.

"I loved you even when I thought you hated me," she informed him. "I'll serve you in battle until the day I die, My Lord, but I'll love you until then, too."

"Mmm." He shut his eyes and tipped his head against the side of the chair, seeming very much like he was going to fall asleep. Bellatrix realised she'd seen him drink two full tumblers of whiskey and a full flute of Champagne just since she'd arrived, and he'd said he'd been drinking for hours ahead of time. She swallowed hard and pulled herself off his chair, carefully tucking his softening cock into his trousers and buttoning him up. She'd stay the night; he'd instructed her before that he wanted her to do so. There was always the morning, she thought. Tonight he was too far gone. She walked over to the Wireless and changed the station back to the New Year's broadcast. As she pulled her clothes back on, she thought the Dark Lord was asleep. But then the broadcasters began talking about how there were only five minutes until midnight, and he blinked his eyes open.

"I'm going to kiss you for the New Year," he said rather determinedly, his words so slurred Bellatrix could hardly understand them.

"Don't worry, My Lord; I'll come to you." Bellatrix left her shoes on the floor and made her way back to the Dark Lord's chair. She slid onto his lap again, fully clothed this time. She put her cheek against his and just sat there for a while, their bodies snug against one another. Their breathing synchronised, and Bellatrix thought perhaps it would be nice to sleep like this. Voldemort's arms wrapped slowly around her, and he whispered,

"I do adore you. I'm not saying that just because I'm drunk. I might not have the courage to say it sober, but it's true just the same."

"I adore you, too, My Lord." Bellatrix stroked at his hair a bit and kissed his slightly scruffy jaw. "And I do promise I will always serve you with all that I am."

"I know that." Voldemort's throat bobbed, and he murmured, "Some days I wished I had never met you, but that was a foolish thing to think. You're the only person I'm actually genuinely glad to have met. Isn't it funny how things can be a curse and a gift at the same time?"

Bellatrix was going to answer him, but suddenly she heard the broadcasters on the radio excitedly counting down from ten. She pulled back a little, and Voldemort threaded his fingers through her hair as the voices on the wireless grew more excited. His eyes were glassy, almost blank, but his voice was more steady than before as he informed her,

"You're my companion, Bella."

_"Six! Five! Four!"_

She nodded, and his hands tightened on her a little as he said, "I'm not meant to be without you, so I won't be."

_"Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"_

Bellatrix smiled and said, "Happy New Year, My -"

She was cut off then by how he pulled her against him into a kiss that was immediately deep and powerful. His tongue was clumsy from the drink and his hands were almost too tight in her hair, but Bellatrix moaned. They'd go to bed and in the morning he'd have a splitting headache, she knew. All she could hope was that he wouldn't regret telling her he adored her. So long as he didn't regret saying that, she thought, she would be happy until the day she died

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_1 January 1970_

Voldemort blinked his eyes open, was socked with the searing grey pain of dawn, and immediately shut his eyes again. He growled in irritation and reached blindly for his wand. He sighed and incanted,

" _Accio -_ "

"It's on the table beside you, My Lord," said the groggy voice of Bellatrix from beside him. He forced his eyes open to see a little brown bottle of HangAway Potion and a glass of water. He gratefully opened the bottle of potion, which would relieve the headache, nausea, and thirst that always came after drinking. He drank deeply from the glass of water and mumbled,

"Thank you, Bella."

He shut his eyes again and she snuggled more tightly against him. He dragged his fingers down her naked side, trying and failing to remember being intimate with her the night before.

"Tell me I at least had your body on my birthday," he said quietly, and Bellatrix sounded a little awkward as she admitted,

"Erm… only sort of, My Lord. It wasn't really… it wasn't possible, strictly speaking."

He let out a low laugh and opened his eyes. "Is that your respectful way of informing me that I couldn't keep it up?"

"Something like that, Master." Bellatrix smiled a little and dusted her fingertips over his own bare chest. That sent a shock of want through Voldemort, and he could feel that his morning erection was still going strong. He brought his fingers between Bellatrix's legs and informed her,

"I can keep it up now."

"Mmph." She shut her eyes and arched against his hand, her dry entrance flooding wet almost at once. He played with her for a long while, feeling the satin folds of her womanhood get more excited as he did. His heart started to quicken in his now forty-three-year-old chest, and he whispered,

"You like to hurt people and you like when I fuck you. Which one do you like more, Bellatrix? My cock or the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Do I have to choose?" she whined, her body starting to tense as he flicked at her nub.

"Yes. Choose," he instructed her. She stared right at him and came, her body clenching around his fingers. She was still twitching around his touch as she panted,

"I do love the Cruciatus Curse, My Lord, but I'll always choose you."

"Come here," he said, his patience for play worn out. He cast a nonverbal contraception charm on her abdomen as she moved toward him. His head was still throbbing as he urged her to straddle him, and as she sank down onto his cock, he put his hands behind his head and watched as she did the work. She planted her hands flat on his chest and started to rock back and forth, her head tipping back. Her breasts looked so very pretty like this, Voldemort thought. They swayed elegantly as she moved, and when she began to bob up and down, her chest bounced a little. He kept his eyes locked on her chest for so long that he had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually Bellatrix started to seem tired. She was tight and wet around him, but morning erections weren't nearly sensitive enough for her to be working this hard.

Voldemort grabbed her waist and started thrusting her himself, eliciting a cry as her curls fell down around her face. He studied every beautiful part of her and felt his body tightening. He wrenched his eyes shut, yanked her down hard, and spilled himself up into her, whispering her name once or twice as he did. As the white hot pleasure subsided, he let her lie back down beside him. He reached for his wand and cleaned them both up, siphoning up his seed and Scouring their bodies and mouths clean for the day.

"I don't want to go back to school, My Lord," Bellatrix complained, blowing her curls out of her face. He gave her a crooked smile and tucked her hair behind her ear from where he lay.

"If I had it my way," he said, "you wouldn't be going back. But you are going back, because sometimes even I don't get my way."

Bellatrix frowned. "You should get your way all the time, My Lord."

There was a peaceful quiet for a while then as Voldemort's awful hangover dissolved more thoroughly. He stared at Bellatrix until she turned her face a bit and asked seriously,

"Will you let me write to you often?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I expect you to write me every single day, Bellatrix, and I shall be more than a little annoyed if you do not. I anticipate details on everything from my enemies to what you eat for dinner."

She laughed a bit and chewed her lip, looking almost supernaturally beautiful in the grey light from the window. Voldemort dragged his knuckles over her collarbone and said,

"In all seriousness, though… Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Their sister Molly is marrying the Weasley boy next month. I'm very certain the Prewett brothers will be given leave to go home for the wedding. I want to know if anyone else goes. Longbottom. Potter. Any of the professors, and most especially Dumbledore."

"I'll give you every bit of information I can hunt down, My Lord," Bellatrix promised. He knew she would, too. She would be the most devoted spy anyone had ever had. Voldemort put his lips into a line and nodded.

"Be cautious about speaking of me," he warned her. "Even to people who would seem to be allies. Even to your fellow Slytherins. As I grow stronger, so do my enemies. And stay out of trouble as best you can. I just need you to make it five more months in that damnable school so that I can have you as my soldier full-time. Understood?"

"Understood, My Lord." Bellatrix frowned a little as she said that, and tension radiated off her in waves. Voldemort put himself up onto one elbow and demanded,

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, lowering her gaze and picking at the sheet. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said smoothly,

_"Legilimens_."

Her mind was a swirl of emotion. Dread about spending the next few months at Hogwarts. Unease about other students, about Dumbledore. Passion for her master. And then there was a very specific memory wedging its way to the front of her consciousness - an image from the night before. Voldemort had his arms snaked around Bellatrix in the armchair, and he was murmuring gently to her.

_"I do adore you. I'm not saying that just because I'm drunk. I might not have the courage to say it sober, but it's true just the same."_

Then Voldemort felt a surge of unease in Bellatrix's mind, the niggling wonder of whether or not that had been the whiskey talking. She was wondering if he'd meant it, if he regretted saying such a thing.

"I don't regret it," he told her, pulling out of her mind so swiftly that there was a whooshing in his ears. She sat up slowly, and he pulled himself up as he studied her face. Her eyes welled at once, and he shook his head as he laced his fingers into her wild curls. He pressed his lips to hers and murmured again, "I don't regret saying that, Bella. It is true. And I am addicted to you. And I can't care anymore. I just… refuse to care anymore. You'll make me stronger, not weaker. I've made up my mind on that."

He could never love her. He knew that. She surely knew it, too. But as he kissed her more firmly, planting his hand between her shoulder blades and feeling the warmth of her skin, he supposed that whatever he felt for her was something terrifyingly near love. It was probably dangerous, how much he cared for her. But if the months of self-imposed exile from her had taught him anything, it was that he felt a powerful adoration for her that went straight to the marrow of his bones. She made him experience sensations he'd never thought himself vulnerable to feeling. She'd made him say and think things he'd never imagined entering his mind.

Lord Voldemort could never love Bellatrix Black. He wasn't able to do it, even if he'd wanted to. But whatever bond they had was powerful and real, and that needed to be enough for the both of them.

He drank Bellatrix in, kissing her for all he was worth and banking the feel of her in his mind. For the next several months, he would have nothing more than her photograph, his journal, and the very occasional dalliance using her necklace. So he kissed her and he let her put her hands on his cheeks, badly in need of a shave, and he was happy.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_7 January 1970_

"Bellatrix?"

She whirled around at the sound of Narcissa's voice, and she frowned at the concerned expression on her youngest sister's face.

"What's wrong, Cissy?" Bellatrix demanded, and Narcissa looked anxiously around the Slytherin common room to ensure no one was listening.

"Is it true? About Andromeda?"

"Is what true?" Bellatrix demanded, narrowing her eyes. Narcissa wrung her hands and sounded slightly disgusted as she said,

"Lucius Malfoy says he saw Dromeda snogging a… a Mudblood."

"What did you say?" Bellatrix felt her heart race with anger, and her fists clenched at her sides. Narcissa nodded quickly.

"Ted Tonks, that Hufflepuff boy."

"Lucius!" Bellatrix barked, and from across the common room, Lucius Malfoy looked away from a conversation with Rabastan Lestrange. He gave Bellatrix a knowing look and nodded, murmuring something to Lestrange to excuse himself. He came walking briskly across the common room, and Bellatrix snapped at him,

"Tell me what you saw. Know that whatever you share with me goes much higher than anyone in this room, so be thorough."

Lucius Malfoy licked his lip delicately and said, "I was in the third-floor corridor after dinner. I'd left something in the Defence classroom. The entire North Tower was very quiet, but I heard voices speaking quietly, and there were no portraits where I was. So I peered around a corner, and I saw Andromeda wrapped up in the arms of Ted Tonks. They neither heard nor saw me."

Narcissa brought her knuckles to her lips and shook her head. "Mother and Father are going to be heartbroken."

"That's the least of our concerns," Bellatrix snarled. She crossed her arms and nodded to Lucius Malfoy. "Thank you for your honesty. And, I suppose, for your espionage. I'll make sure he knows of your loyalty."

"Thank you," Lucius said, eyeing Narcissa as he asserted, "This is not news I'd ever want to share with either of you."

"Well, I'm not surprised," Bellatrix sniffed. "Andromeda has never, ever represented our family with even a modicum of pride or dignity."

"Will she be punished?" Narcissa asked worriedly, and Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow.

"That's not up to me, but she probably should be. Goodnight, both of you."

She walked away quickly without another word, heading down the corridor to the girls' dormitories. She pushed the door to the seventh-year girls' room open and silently waved a greeting to Dahlia, who sat cross-legged on her bed with a Charms textbook open before her. She was already in her nightgown, and as Bellatrix hurried to put her own pyjamas on, Dahlia muttered,

"Can't seem to get this flower Conjuring charm quite right…"

"Sorry to hear that," Bellatrix said quickly, raking a wide comb through her curls before yanking them into a braid. She waved a hand dismissively toward Dahlia and said, "Erm… make certain you don't draw your wand in too small a circle; you'll just wind up with a stem."

"Oh! That must be it." Dahlia performed the elaborate Conjuring motion and incanted, "Flora." A plush cream peony appeared in the air and floated down into Dahlia's hand, and she grinned widely. "Thanks, Bella! You're going to do marvelously on your NEWTs."

Bellatrix just nodded and pulled her journal and quill out of her rucksack. "I'm… headed to bed early. Night."

"G'night." Dahlia turned the page in her Charms textbook as Bellatrix climbed up onto her bed and flicked her wand to shut the curtains. She pulled herself up against her pillows, shoving her legs under her blankets, and she opened her journal. Her hand shook a little as she wrote,

_My Lord, there is a blood traitor in our midst. My sister Andromeda was seen by Lucius Malfoy snogging a Mudblood Hufflepuff boy._

There was a bit of a pause, and Bellatrix shut her journal as she rubbed at her forehead. Her own sister. Of all the people to betray the cause her master held so dear… her own sister. Bellatrix sighed when she saw the journal had gone black, and when she opened it again, Voldemort's writing was crisp on the page.

I doubt anyone is terribly surprised to discover that Andromeda is capable of such a thing. What is the Mudblood's name?

_Ted Tonks_ , Bellatrix wrote back. She hesitated and then wrote, _Shall I eliminate him?_

Her lord and master's answer came almost immediately.  _No. There would be no doubt about who'd done such a thing. Now is not the time for such brazenness. We shall monitor the situation going forward. Do not speak to Andromeda under any circumstances so that the message is plainly sent that her actions are reprehensible. Keep an eye on the both of them and update me frequently._

_Of course, My Lord._ Bellatrix shut the journal again and twirled her hair around her finger. She studied the beautifully imprinted leather cover of her journal and watched as the green faded down into black. She picked it up again and read,

_You've managed to stay out of trouble for the first few days of lessons. Colour me impressed._

She smirked a little and quickly wrote back,  _I'll continue being a very good girl, My Lord._

_Well, don't do that, came his immediate response_ , and Bellatrix smiled as more words appeared.  _Don't be too good, wicked little thing. Just good enough not to get expelled. Don't worry about your sister; I'll handle it in due time as necessary. I'll speak with your father. Focus on school._

_Yes, My Lord,_  Bellatrix wrote back, and as she shut her journal, she whispered aloud to herself, "Goodnight."

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_27 January 1970_

Bellatrix jolted awake, gasping and fighting not to scream from the terrible pain. She blinked through the darkness of the dormitory and peeled her fingers away from her forearm to see that her Dark Mark had gone black. So had her journal. Her master needed her.

_"Lumos_." Bellatrix sat up and peeled open her journal, her eyes focusing better as her gaze settled on the words that had been roughly scrawled on the page.

_Use your necklace and come to Malfoy Manor immediately._

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she snatched her journal as she scrambled out of her bed. She flung open her wardrobe and put on her heavy black velvet winter cloak. She tucked her journal into the drawer and tried not to wake the others as she closed her wardrobe. She touched at her necklace around her necklace and dashed into the girls' bathroom. She shut the door, holding her wand tightly in her right hand as she shut her eyes. She thought of Malfoy Manor and whirled to her right, Disapparating quietly.

When she came to, she was in the parlour of Lord Voldemort's suite. He was pacing with his hands behind his back, and the only acknowledgment he gave to Bellatrix appearing was to flick his cold eyes over to her. Bellatrix steadied herself on her feet and dashed over to him.

"My Lord, what's happened?" she asked, for the clock on the wall told her it was one-thirty in the morning. He sniffed and kept pacing as he announced,

"Raffi and Rivinius Macnair were with Rodolphus Lestrange earlier this evening in Lancashire. It was meant to be an in-and-out operation. Acquire a certain Auror. Bring them back here. That was it."

"What happened?" Bellatrix asked again, and Voldemort finally stopped walking. He shrugged and said, "Rodolphus Lestrange made it out in time. Raffi Macnair was killed duelling with Alastor Moody, who appeared out of nowhere with three other Aurors. As far as we know, Rivinius Macnair's been taken a prisoner of the Ministry. Fortunately, he knows very little of consequence. Nothing especially sensitive."

Bellatrix was overwhelmed. She'd just left Fiona Macnair sleeping in her dormitory, and now the girl's father was dead. Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and asked carefully,

"Is there any way I can serve you now, My Lord?"

"Yes, there is." He nodded and glanced out the window into the gardens. "I spent an hour earlier blowing up trees. Tortured the House-Elf. Threw Abraxas Malfoy against a wall out of frustration. It wasn't enough. Get on your knees, Bella; I'm going to fuck your mouth until you can't breathe."

Bellatrix froze for a moment, shocked by his language. But then she unlatched the silver clasp of her black winter cloak and tossed the garment onto the back of the armchair beside her. She sank down onto the carpet and crawled toward Voldemort. She was bleeding right now; she wouldn't be able to have him inside of her unless he was willing to overlook that rather gruesome fact. Somehow he seemed to know; perhaps that was why he'd ordered her onto her knees.

Bellatrix approached him, her head bowed in submission. He tipped her chin up and then squeezed at her jaw a little. His hands went to the placket of his trousers, and his eyes flashed as he said down to her,

"Tell me why it is you love your master, Bella."

She swallowed hard as he took his soft cock out of his trousers. He pulled her hands up and put them on his member, and she started to caress his skin there as she murmured gently,

"I love you, My Lord, because you possess power no wizard has ever possessed. You exist beyond the rest of us, and I can not help but love you for it."

He'd started to harden beneath her fingers, and he let his hand drift over her frizzed-up curls as she deepened her touch and raised her eyes to him.

"I love you that you are ferociously handsome," she told him, "though I would love you if looked like a toad. I love that you touch me, that you grant me the honour of your kiss and your cock. But I loved you even when you wouldn't speak to me."

His throat bobbed and his fingers tightened in her curls. He was fully erect now, and as Bellatrix stroked carefully along his length, she added,

"I think perhaps, My Lord, that I was born to serve you. Born to love you. It is my purpose in life, I think, to be wholly and completely yours."

"Bella." His voice cracked a little, and he tipped his head back, his chest heaving beneath his black tunic. "Put your mouth on me."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently. It was difficult for her to feel much arousal; her breasts were achy and she had cramps and other discomforts. This was not a time of the month during which she felt especially attractive. Nor did she crave much physical gratification now. But what she wanted didn't matter. What she felt didn't matter. All that mattered was that her lord found some measure of stress relief here with her. He'd lost two of his most useful soldiers tonight. It was her duty to assuage his frustration.

She slid her lips over the tip of his cock and made suckling motions, pulling him in a little at a time until he hit the back of her throat. She remembered the vulgar language he'd used about 'fucking her mouth,' and she pulled him in even farther. She raised her eyes up to stare at him, surprised by just how unhinged he looked. She gagged a little, and Voldemort put his hands on either side of her head. He pulled her back a bit and then thrust his hips forward, making Bellatrix splutter from the sudden way he invaded her mouth. He groaned loudly and pulled her back again, yanking his hips in the other direction. He repeated the motion, pulling her against him as he thrust himself forward. Bellatrix's eyes watered and she struggled not to throw up as he pushed deeply into her throat.

He'd been right; she could barely breathe. Her hands flew to his hips, flailing a little until she found purchase at the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers hooked against the material and her knees ached as her master pushed into her mouth over and over again. She spluttered, her throat aching as if she was ill. She felt tears water out of her eyes and stream down her cheeks as Voldemort's hips quickened. His fingers were tight in her hair as he pulled her face against his hips.

" _Dulcis_ ," she heard him mutter frantically, and she knew why he'd done it. Men's seed tasted bitter naturally, but he'd always made his taste sweet for her. Even now, even when her knees hurt so badly and he was battering her throat, he was still making his seed taste sweet. He buried himself inside her mouth, and Bellatrix couldn't suppress an awkward gagging noise then as he came. Even with the sweetening spell, the fluid was odd as it pulsed against the back of her throat. When Voldemort finally pulled away, Bellatrix swiped at her face with her hands, trying desperately to rid herself of the saliva that had gotten all over her cheeks and chin. She kept her gaze down, unsure of whether she was permitted to look upon her master.

" _Scourgify_ ," he mumbled, dragging the tip of his wand along her bottom lip. Bellatrix felt her mouth cleanse from the spell, suddenly feeling as fresh as if she'd just cleaned her teeth with baking soda and mint. She finally raised her eyes, and Voldemort took her hand in his and pulled her to stand. Her knees, worn from the effort, trembled beneath her. She didn't watch as Voldemort tucked his softening cock away. Instead she stared at the rug, and he finally whispered,

"Thank you, Bella."

"My Lord," she nodded. He tipped her chin up and raked his other hand through his dark hair as he shrugged.

"Two of my soldiers… gone," he mused. "One I'll have to try and liberate with force before they haul him off to Azkaban; the other's dead and I'll undoubtedly have to attend his funeral. So it has been a difficult evening, you understand?"

"Of course I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "I'm only sorry I couldn't help."

"You helped." He tucked her hair behind her ear and shut his eyes. "It wasn't just about getting the anger out, Bella. I was blowing up trees and all I could think was that I wanted you here. I knew you were sleeping; I knew better than to Summon you away from Hogwarts. But I couldn't… I needed… just come here."

He opened his eyes and took her jaw in his hand, kissing her fiercely. Bellatrix was very glad then that he'd cleaned out her mouth. She drank in the feel of his kiss, groaning softly at the way one of his arms wrapped around her nightgown to pull her close against him.

"You should go back," he mumbled against her lips once he'd broken the kiss, and Bellatrix reluctantly nodded. He dragged a thumb under her eye and licked his lip before he informed her, "I do adore you, you know. Really and truly. And I am… grateful. I am glad you came."

Bellatrix smiled crookedly. "My Lord, I awoke to a searing pain on my Mark and instructions in my journal from you. There was never any option but for me to obey you. There will never be any other option."

He kissed her forehead and whispered softly, "Go back to your bed, my lovely little thing. I'll write to you with more details as I have them. Don't tell the Macnair girl; I'll have her mother send her an owl."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix dragged her fingertips along his cheek and studied his features. She met his eyes and assured him, "I love you so very much, My Lord. I always will. And this minor setback will be but a blip in your inevitable climb to power. You'll rule them all. Everything will be yours; it must be. I won't rest until I help you see that through."

"Well." Voldemort's throat bobbed and his knuckles dragged along her serpent necklace. "I hope you get at least a little more rest before the sun comes up. I need your mind sharp. Now more than ever. Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, My Lord." She pulled her cloak back on and fastened it, flashing him one last little smile before she shut her eyes and Disapparated back to Hogwarts.


	5. Chapter 5

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_13 February 1970_

Voldemort sighed deeply as he stripped off his clothes. He was dirty and tired; today had sapped him of magic more completely than nearly any day in his memory. He'd waited alongside a country road until a car full of Muggles had come along. He'd crashed the car with magic, he'd finished off the three Muggles in the car, and he'd transported them one by one to the cave where he kept his Horcrux. He'd made Inferi of them, and then he'd come back to Malfoy Manor. It had been beyond taxing, but he knew the reward was more than worth the trouble.

Now Voldemort stood in the bathroom of his suite, staring at his own reflection and feeling very glad for his lack of mortality. He might be getting some grey in his hair, and his face might be a tad bit wrinkled these days, but it didn't matter. He would never shrivel up and die like everyone else. He was immortal; he had made himself immortal.

Then suddenly he had a terrible mental image. Bellatrix on the wrong side of the jade green light, crumpling silently in death. Bellatrix, an old woman frail with age or disease, taking her final breath. His stomach ached all of a sudden, and he wished for some reason that he could teach her how to make at least one Horcrux. The thought of losing her for good made him ill. He knew, of course, that she could fall in any given battle. Any of his soldiers were liable to die. But the idea of not having Bellatrix was borderline intolerable.

Voldemort raised his fist and punched roughly at the mirror, overcome by a sudden surge of angry confusion. The glass shattered into jagged shards, and blood ran over his fingers and streamed down his arm. He didn't reach for his wand for a long moment. Instead he held his arm over the glass-filled sink and watched the scarlet blood run in rivers over the broken mirror and across the pristine porcelain. It felt good to bleed. He so rarely bled. He shut his eyes and felt his pulse send the blood out in streams. For some reason, he felt powerful like this.

Finally he reached for his wand and murmured a few repairing spells to fix up the mirror and to close up the gashes on his knuckles and hand. He watched as his skin knitted itself back together, and he realised just how deeply Bellatrix herself had settled into his veins. Even now, even spent from killing and creating monsters, he could not help but wish she was here. Kissing her would rejuvenate him, he thought. Touching her, joking a bit with her… it would all make him feel much better.

He sighed and stepped into his black shower, cranking the water to its hottest setting. He stood with his back beneath the powerful stream, letting the hot water massage his aching shoulders. He'd had his right arm up a lot today, for the spells used to create Inferi were nothing if not time-consuming. He reached for the bar of soap and began to scrub himself, wondering if Bellatrix was asleep. Tomorrow she'd have to go to another foolish Valentine's party in the Slytherin common room. That thought put a spike of discomfort through Voldemort.

All his male followers - at least the fully grown ones - had wives no more than five or six years their junior. Everyone had married young, most of them fresh out of Hogwarts to girls their own age. Avery's wife was actually two years older than him. Abraxas' wife was a year older. But Bellatrix was a full twenty-five years younger than Voldemort. He rarely thought about that, for it made him uncomfortable to do so. It made him feel old, and it made him feel like a cad for adoring a girl who still wore a school uniform. But she didn't act like a little girl. When she was torturing and killing, she was anything but a child. She was shrewd and sharp-witted and brooding. She was hardly a brainless flit like so many girls her age. She was a good soldier, bold and fearless and more than able. She was far more loyal to Voldemort than any of the others. And she was beautiful… very beautiful.

He shut his eyes, letting the hot water stream over his face as he tipped his head back a little. Suddenly his mind was full of her, full of the way she looked when she was casting a Cruciatus and the way she'd looked sucking his cock a few weeks earlier. Voldemort grunted softly, feeling abruptly aroused despite his fatigue. Flashes of what he'd done today - all the killing and the complicated magic - whirled and interspersed with images of Bellatrix. He opened his eyes and leaned against the tiled wall, letting the water caress his front as his cock went hard. He started to stroke himself with his right hand, the water making every slick as he groaned a little.

His voice echoed off the tile, and he had a sudden instinctive need to bring his left arm up to his mouth. He dragged his bottom lip up over his Dark Mark, thinking hard of Bellatrix as his right hand pumped on his cock. It was only nine-thirty, and it was a Friday evening. She almost certainly wasn't in bed yet. But he couldn't care about embarrassing her right now. He couldn't keep his lips and tongue from dancing over his Mark, almost as if it represented Bellatrix herself. He felt a startling jolt of an unmistakable emotion - love - and he knew it had come from her. He was incapable, he knew, of feeling such a thing for himself, so it must have come from her. He relished it, savouring the adoration as his body started to tighten.

"Bella," he whispered against his arm, letting his lips rest on the Mark as he wrenched his eyes shut. Everything went tense and felt magnificent, his fingers flying back and forth over his cock as he passed the point of no return. He let out the breath he'd been holding and watched as his seed leaped in ropes through the stream of the water. It was quickly washed down the drain, leaving Voldemort in a panting slump against the wall as the blinding pleasure subsided. He felt an explosion of sorts in the ether, and he kissed his Mark one more time as if he was putting the sort of gentle kiss on Bellatrix he always did after taking her body. He sighed and stood in the hot water for another moment before finally shutting off the taps and stepping out of the shower.

He reached for his wand and dried himself with a few quick spells, and when he made his way back to his bedroom, he Summoned a pair of simple black pyjama trousers from his wardrobe. He pulled them on and heaved himself into bed, tentatively reaching for his journal and quill from the table beside the bed. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, opened the book, and wrote a single word he only ever said to Bellatrix.

_Sorry._

He watched as the words sank into the page, and a half a minute later, he had a response.

_Please don't be sorry, My Lord. I was studying alone. It was like you were here with me._

His chest pulled at that for some strange reason, and his lip shook a little with unexpected emotion as he scribbled,

_What were you studying?_

There was rather a long pause, and Voldemort closed his eyes as he thought of what had happened since he'd last seen Bellatrix. They'd buried Raffi Macnair. Rivinius Macnair had been thrown into Azkaban. Cygnus Black III had sent an owl to his daughter Andromeda warning her that if by the end of term she had not ceased all communications with the Mudblood, she was not to return to the Black family home. Voldemort himself had just today killed and created Inferi.

It had been a busy few weeks. And so now Voldemort found himself oddly interested in mundane things. He opened his eyes and saw a long reply from Bellatrix.

_I was just doing research for a History of Magic essay, My Lord. We're meant to write about a witch or wizard who changed the face of magic forever. Many others are writing about Grindelwald, obviously. I wish I could write it about you. You've already begun a movement that will only continue to accelerate. But because I don't think Professor Binns would take kindly to me writing about you, I chose Artemisia Lufkin._

Voldemort smirked. Artemisia Lufkin had been the first female Minister for Magic. Of course Bellatrix would choose her. Of course she would write an essay about a witch who had shown that gender did not dictate one's abilities when it came to intelligence or power. Voldemort curled up half his mouth and wrote,

_Would have been a bit awkward to write an essay about your companion, anyway._

He realised at once what he'd written, and a horrified sort of surprise washed over him. He'd just made it sound, however inadvertently, as though he and Bellatrix were in some sort of established relationship. He'd made it sound like they were partners, like they were lovers. But then he remembered the way he'd awakened on New Year's Day, his hangover powerful, with her mumbling quietly from beside him that she'd already put out a potion for him. That sort of intimacy, was not anything Voldemort had ever wanted. But he had it with Bellatrix, and he liked it with Bellatrix. He licked his bottom lip and quickly added,

_I find myself wishing I was going to have your company tomorrow. It may be a stupid holiday, but it's meant to be spent with -_

He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. She wasn't his wife. He was not like his male followers who had been droning on for the past week about making Valentine's plans for their women. Voldemort huffed a sigh and wrote quickly,

_You should not have to spend the day with pimply-faced boys._

There was a little pause, and then Bellatrix asked in neat writing,  _If I were there, My Lord, how would we spend the evening?_

He laughed a little. She wanted to imagine it? Fine. He could give her that. He painted a picture in his head and then wrote,

_There would be roses everywhere. More roses than you could count. Lots and lots of Champagne - probably too much. I would make you dance with me, and you'd stare up at me and then I'd kiss you and take you to my bed and make love to you gently and slowly. Then I'd put you into a sweet-smelling bath and sit beside you and kiss you a bit more. The next time wouldn't be as gentle. We'd both be tired and tipsy and fall asleep tangled up._

As he finished writing, he realised the night he'd described was terribly cliché. He pursed his lips and tried to think of something more clever, but Bellatrix had already written back.

_That sounds lovely, My Lord. But all I'd want would be to hear you tell me that I make you happy. That would be more than enough for me. Better than a hundred thousand roses._

_You do make me happy,_  Voldemort scribbled, as quickly as he could manage. Suddenly his hand seemed to be moving of its own accord, and words started spilling from his mind straight onto the page.

_You make me so happy that sometimes I feel like an utter fool. I dream of you. I have fantasies about you in battle and in bed. Today I killed three Muggles, and when I came home you flooded my head. It should have made me angry, the way I was thinking of you after a day like today, but_ instead _it was comforting. Because you do make me happy, Bellatrix. And I do adore you._

He slammed his journal shut then, very irritated with the way he'd just opened his soul to her like that. He threw the journal as hard as he could against the wall, and it clattered to the floor. Voldemort nearly snapped the enchanted black quill in his hand, but instead he tossed it down onto the table beside him. He was frustrated, for there was a word and a thought pulsing in the back of his mind as if it were a prisoner screaming to be released. He tried to convince himself that the mental torment was the result of making Inferi today, that he was just tired. But the word and the thought grew louder than ever, and soon enough it was a powerful ache that made him ball his fists on the blanket. He watched the journal turn black on the floor, and he wandlessly Summoned it back with an ease no other could match. He huffed out a little breath when he read what Bellatrix had written.

If I never breathed another breath, My Lord, I would have lived a perfect life, because it would have been lived for you.

Suddenly the great and fearsome Lord Voldemort could hardly think. Suddenly his dark eyes were welling, something that almost never happened. Suddenly the orphaned boy who had become a murdering man was breathless and helpless. She killed just as happily as him. Actually, she was probably even more vicious and sadistic than even Voldemort. She could be cruel to her own family and friends. She was cold and hard for everyone but him. For him, she was warm and soft and submissive. For him she was both slave and lover, and she had ahold of his being in a way he'd never anticipated. She possessed him just as surely as he possessed her.

He would kill just for her, he knew. If anyone ever harmed her, he would take his revenge mercilessly. He would buy her every palace in the world, and he'd take them all by force. He would kiss her endlessly, wake up beside her every single day if he could. And the thought of her inevitable death made him feel panicked.

He was hardly human himself, he thought. He reminded himself of just how stony his own remaining soul was. He could never feel selfless affection. He was incapable of performing deeds altruistically. And yet that word and thought and sensation shrieked in his skull, torturing him until he put the wildly shaking nib of his quill to the page and wrote in a trembling script,

_I do believe I am in love with you, Bella._

He shut the journal and set it aside, staring at it like it was a dangerous animal. What had he done? He couldn't love. It wasn't possible; he wasn't capable of love. He'd never been loved by anyone but Bellatrix, and she only loved him because he was her master. She was his servant, not his…

He closed his eyes and tried for another minute to convince himself that he'd lied to her. He tried desperately to remind himself of who he was, of the path he was forging, of the movement he was building. Then he realised that he would only march successfully down that path if he had Bellatrix. And he realised that he did love her.

The screaming in his head grew a bit quieter, and his racing heart started to slow. His breath steadied between his clenched teeth. He picked up the journal, still shaking a little as he opened it to see that Bellatrix had dutifully written,

_With all that I am as your soldier, servant, and companion, I love you fiercely, Master. Whatever you feel toward me, I know I do not deserve it. I am grateful just the same._

He gulped hard and picked up his quill. She was probably crying tears of joy right now. He considered for a moment telling her it had been a terrible choice of words, that of course he was not in love with her, and that she was silly to think such a thing. Instead he wrote,

_I'm quite certain you'll write an excellent essay on Artemisia Lufkin. And there's no need for you to write an essay about my story; I intend for you to see it all first-hand. In a few months, I shall have you without Dumbledore's silly school taking you out of my service. You'll be my soldier again, and I shall need you, because the war is just beginning._

He sighed and watched the words fade away. He certainly meant that bit. Pressure from the Ministry on Voldemort was heating up at the same time he was increasing his own espionage and undercover service campaigns. The real meaty conflict was in its infancy. He would indeed need Bellatrix for battle, for interrogations… for companionship.

And he did love her. He couldn't convince himself otherwise. What he had once thought himself utterly incapable of experiencing was thudding through him like a drumbeat.

Suddenly Bellatrix's handwriting appeared on the page again, and Voldemort dusted his fingertips over the words as he read,

_I shall be on my knees before you just as soon as I can, My Lord. And I shall be beside you in battle and in bed as long as you have want of me._

Voldemort brushed his thumb over his Dark Mark and felt a crackling, searing sort of connection. It was, for a split second, like her mind had melded with his. He could feel her happiness at what he'd told her, the twinge of fear that she would fail him. He wondered briefly if his ability to feel her love for him had triggered a false sense of love for her within his own mind. But, no, he thought. The emotions were separate; he could parse them out and identify them. He put his lips into a line and wrote in the journal,

_Stay out of trouble tomorrow at the Valentine's party, Miss Black. I don't want any of those boys putting a hand on my companion._

He struggled to write that last word, for it did not feel quite strong enough in one sense. In another sense, it still felt just right. He smiled a bit when Bellatrix wrote back,

_I've every intention of sulking in a corner, My Lord. If any of the boys try to touch me, I'm more than a little skilled with a Bloody Eye Hex._

_You're more than a little skilled_ with _a great many things, Bella,_  Voldemort wrote. _Write your essay. Goodnight._

_Goodnight, My Lord,_ came the quick reply _._  Voldemort shut the journal and set it on the table beside the bed, letting his eyelids fall shut as he leaned back against his pillows. He thought of killing his enemies, of torturing prisoners, and he thought of Bellatrix. He fell asleep happy, and somehow his earlier uncertainty had vanished.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_18 March 1970_

"And so Eliza Cunningham led a contingent of witches and wizards from Birmingham to the south of Scotland, where they met the Giants head-on in a massive battle on the plain of…"

"Honestly, how are we meant to stay awake through this?" Ophelia murmured. Bellatrix smirked as she glanced around the classroom. There were only twelve seventh-years, pulled from all four Houses, who had stayed with History of Magic this long. Bellatrix knew that Ophelia wanted the History of Magic NEWT so that she could work as a Magical librarian. Bellatrix herself had taken the course because Professor Binns simply read from his notes, and it was easy enough to skim the textbook and pass all exams and essays.

Bellatrix scribbled down some notes from what Binns was saying in his droning voice. Beside her, Ophelia yawned rather conspicuously. Bellatrix picked up her quill to write something else when her left arm abruptly began to sear with pain. She gasped a little, and Ophelia snapped to attention.

"Something wrong?" Ophelia asked, and Bellatrix whispered,

"I have to go." She began shoving her books and quills into her rucksack, ignoring the concerned look on Ophelia's face. The pain in her Dark Mark grew stronger than ever. Something was terribly wrong.

Professor Binns wouldn't even notice she'd left, but just the same, Bellatrix murmured toward the ghost, "Excuse me, Professor, but I need to leave."

When he just kept droning on, Bellatrix flashed an apologetic look toward Ophelia and made her way swiftly out of the classroom. She shut the door behind her and raced down the first floor corridor until she reached a winding staircase down to the dungeons. She didn't stop trotting until she'd reached a secluded little part of the dungeons with nary a portrait or human in sight. She opened her rucksack and pulled out her journal, unsurprised to see it was black. She opened it and read her master's tight, neat writing.

_Use your necklace and come to Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London._

Bellatrix felt her heart race as she shoved the journal away. She pulled out her wand, fully prepared to be entering battle. She'd never heard that address before, and if her master was pulling her away from lessons in the middle of the day, surely this was something very serious. She reached beneath the collar of her school shirt and touched at her serpent necklace. She shut her eyes and thought very hard of Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London. Then she Disapparated, hoping nobody heard the little crack of sound she left in her wake.

When she came to, she was in a sunny but chilly street, tree-lined and peaceful. She was standing before an elegant white Georgian house marked with a six. Bellatrix adjusted her grip on her wand and, seeing no one else around her, started to walk straight up to the door. She stood before the painted black door, unsure of what to do, but then the door opened and she saw Lord Voldemort standing in the threshold. He plucked Bellatrix's wand from her hand and twirled it effortlessly as he informed her,

"No battle, Bella. It's just me. Come inside."

She obeyed him, feeling confused as she followed him into the house. It was airy inside, with classic, Victorian-style decorations. To the left was a spacious parlour that had a piano and fine seating. To the right was a library, and Voldemort gestured in there.

"My Lord, what is this place?" Bellatrix asked cautiously. Voldemort quirked up half his mouth and shrugged.

"This is my new house," he said simply. "I grew weary of being a boarder at Malfoy Manor. I'll keep my office there so my residence can stay private. The Muggles who lived here are now… gone. I renovated the inside, and I've charmed it to be more or less Unplottable and wholly undetectable to Muggles. What do you think?"

There was something strange about the way he asked Bellatrix that last question, and she quickly realised that if this was his new residence, she'd be living here for the summer and beyond. She took a closer look at the sapphire wallpaper and white plaster decorations in the library, and she smiled a bit.

"I think it's lovely, Master," she told him. She put her hands to the front of his flowing black robes and said rather playfully, "You rescued me from History of Magic Lessons, so this place could be a filthy hovel and I'd still like it."

He tucked her hair behind her ear and licked his bottom lip as his face went serious. Bellatrix studied his glittering eyes, his sharp features, and she asked, feeling worried,

"Something wrong, My Lord?"

His throat bobbed and his voice was hoarse as he said, "I should have waited until tonight to call you here. No… I should have waited until you were already home for the Easter holiday. But I couldn't wait that long, Bella, because… it isn't that I thought I'd lose my nerve, but…"

His cheeks went very pink, and suddenly Bellatrix thought perhaps he was going to send her away or to cut her off from him like he'd done before. He blinked quickly and sounded almost breathless as he told her rather inexplicably,

"Nothing will be different except the terminology. I am still your master, and you are still my servant. Do you understand?"

"Not really, My Lord," Bellatrix admitted. "Have I… done something wrong?"

"No. No… quite the opposite." Voldemort shut his eyes, and then the only sound in the library was the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Bellatrix watched as Voldemort reached one hand into his pocket, and she felt more nervous than ever as he murmured, "How strange it is to say words we never imagined ourselves speaking, hmm? I do love you, Bella."

Her mouth fell open, for she'd never heard him say the word in person. Her eyes welled at once, and she was rendered utterly speechless. His eyes met hers and they simply stared at one another for a long while. Voldemort reached with a shaking hand to cup Bellatrix's jaw in his hand, and he told her in an uncharacteristically anxious voice,

"I never, never imagined wanting this for myself. You need to understand that. But I do want it."

"What do you want, Master?" Bellatrix covered his hand with hers, and a look of resignation came over his face as he shrugged and said helplessly,

"I want you to marry me."

For a few seconds then, Bellatrix's head spun and her ears rang, and she was only barely able to stay on her feet. She stumbled a little and Voldemort snared his arm around her waist. He took her left hand and pushed something onto the fourth finger, and Bellatrix was so dizzy that she only half heard him as he said,

"I'm still not exactly certain why I long for the formality. I shouldn't. I shouldn't want a wife. And I don't want a wife, strictly speaking. I want you. As my wife."

Bellatrix finally gasped in a breath as she stared down at the ring he'd pushed onto her finger. It was an ornate cage of what seemed to be white gold, with small onyx inlaid in a pattern surrounding a round, glittering diamond. Bellatrix made an involuntary sound when she saw the ring. Just the week before, Narcissa had asked Bellatrix if she intended on marrying, since the Dark Lord had put her off-limits to others like Rodolphus Lestrange. Now Bellatrix had her answer. But just as Lord Voldemort had never imagined wanting a wife, she had never imagined him as her husband. Such an idea had been so far beyond logic that she'd never put it into her mind.

"Nothing will change," he asserted again. "You'll stay Bellatrix Black. You'll still be my soldier, my servant. It's just… if you fall in battle, Bellatrix, I should like to bury you as my wife."

To anyone else, probably, that sort of macabre talk would have destroyed the romance of the moment. But Bellatrix found herself nodding fervently up to Voldemort. She still couldn't speak. She still had no idea what to say to him. As if he'd read her mind, he took her face in his hands and whispered,

"Just say you'll do it, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said at last. "Oh, yes. I'll marry you."

"It will need to be a small affair," Voldemort said cautiously. "I do not wish for my followers to see a grand presentation of my personal life, you understand. And just as I have my own spies, I'm sure Dumbledore has his own. In fact, I mean for it to just be you and me present. There are plenty of ancient binding traditions that require no witnesses."

Bellatrix nodded, her lips dry as she struggled to breathe steadily. "I have no need of a party, My Lord," she insisted. "It's means to an end, and if the end is being wed to you, I'd lose a limb to do it."

"Well. I won't ask that of you." Voldemort smirked a little and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her gently and whispered, "Over the Easter holiday, then. I want to be able to savour you afterward. And right now you're missing in action from school, aren't you?"

She smiled as he pulled away, but a sudden surge of uncertainty roiled her belly. "My Lord, how I do I explain the ring?" she asked. "Am I ever allowed to tell anyone I'm… you know…"

His eyes sparkled a bit then as he admitted, "Probably a bit dangerous just now for you to march about the halls of Hogwarts announcing that you're the intended of Lord Voldemort himself. Still, I admit I cherish the notion of Dumbledore's horror. And you've only got a very short time left among the riffraff. If you're willing to bear the reactions, by all means, be honest."

Bellatrix felt pride go through her to the marrow of her bones. She laughed a little, looking at the glittering gold and onyx and diamond on her finger. "As if they weren't afraid of me already," she mused. She raised her eyes and told Voldemort, "Is it awful that I like to make them feel afraid?"

"No. I think that's perfectly fine." He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers for a moment, snaring his fingers into her wild curls as he whispered, "I want nothing more right now than to take you upstairs into the bed I mean to share with you and take my time. I want nothing more than to kiss every scrap of you. But you must go back, mustn't you?"

Bellatrix flicked her eyes to the bookshelves that lined the airy library. There was a little shelf about halfway up the wall that ran all the way around the room. She tipped her head and noted slyly,

"I've a skirt on, My Lord, and I have confidence in your ability to be quick about it."

* * *

_Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London_

_19 March 1970_

Voldemort stared at his reflection in the mirror of the upstairs bathroom, his face half covered in shaving cream. He turned on the tap and rinsed his heavy metal razor, sniffing a little as he studied his own face.

He still couldn't quite believe he'd done it all. He'd killed the five Muggles living in this house, turned them to Inferi for his Horcrux, and had redone the house's interior almost from scratch. He'd done it because he wanted a place of his own to be with Bellatrix, not a suite in Malfoy Manor. He was the Dark Lord himself; he was not meant to be a boarder in his servant's manse. So he'd made himself a home, and he'd made it with a wife in mind.

Him, Lord Voldemort, killer and unrepentant misanthropist, married. It was a completely ludicrous idea. Voldemort had known it to be ludicrous even when he'd sent away to a Hungarian wizarding jeweler for Bellatrix's ring. He'd known full well that he could just keep her as his companion, as his most devoted servant. Something had shifted within him, though, once he'd come to terms with the idea of loving her. Perhaps, he thought, having her as close as a wife was to a husband would help his ascent. She was vicious and sadistic, but most importantly, she kept him happy. Being married to him would inflict fear on top of her own destructive powers. Being married to her would keep him from snapping, would keep him focused on the goals he needed to achieve.

He didn't regret proposing marriage to her. Every move he made in life was carefully calculated, and this was no exception. He did feel a different sort of happiness than he was accustomed to feeling. It was a deep-seated sort of contentment, a sensation in his veins that he had done exactly what was going to lead to his success and bliss. Now he finished shaving with careful, smooth motions of his hand, knowing that he had a meeting with Abraxas Malfoy in a half hour. He walked into the green bedroom with its mahogany trimmings, the one he and Bellatrix would share, and he pulled clothes from his wardrobe. Just as he was buttoning up his outer robe, he noticed that his journal, which was sitting on the small writing-desk, had gone black. Frowning, he picked it up and opened it to see Bellatrix's writing.

_Fiona Macnair and Ophelia Selwyn didn't actually believe me for the first half hour after they noticed my ring. They congratulated me once they realised I was telling the truth, but I think they're flat-out terrified. Dahlia Greengrass is catastrophically jealous; she wants nothing more than her own ring from Rabastan Lestrange. None of them comprehend that marrying Rabastan Lestrange is not remotely the same thing as marrying you, Master. But I reckon it isn't worth trying to explain something to people who could never begin to understand._

Voldemort smirked, picking up his quill and scribbling back,  _Focus on preparing for your NEWTs, Little Thing. Can't have you fail them all because you're too busy explaining a piece of jewelry._

He shut the journal and tucked it into his robe, Disapparating from his new home and reappearing outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. He strode quickly up to the house, flicking his wand at the double doors to open them. He made his way briskly up the stairs and down the long corridor that led to his office. He was just getting settled when someone knocked tentatively on the door.

"Enter," Voldemort said sharply, unsurprised when Abraxas Malfoy came walking inside. He flashed Voldemort a small smile and gave a respectful little bow before sitting in the chair to which Voldemort gestured.

"Have we determined an appropriate sum to grant Raffi Macnair's widow?" Voldemort asked, figuring that this meeting need not have pretense. Abraxas nodded and said,

"Twenty-five thousand Galleons have been allocated from the general fund by Cygnus Black, My Lord. With your blessing, he'll go ahead and transfer the funds to Madam Macnair."

"That will be fine," Voldemort nodded. "The Goyles - has the baby been born?"

"Just last night, My Lord," Abraxas nodded. "Pyotr Goyle, they've called the child."

"Hideous name," Voldemort sneered, shaking his head. "Still, there will need to be some sort of congratulatory gift sent over. It's a pureblood child. Important just now. Arrange for some baskets of fresh fruits and breads to be sent over in my name, will you?"

"Naturally, My Lord," Abraxas said. He hesitated for a split second and then said, "We still haven't got any good information on where Alastor Moody is living. Rosier is continuing to pursue the matter."

"Keep after it," Voldemort nodded. "If you get a hold on his location, I want to know at once. I mean to take him out personally."

"Of course, My Lord. I have nothing else for you today." Abraxas Malfoy was beautifully efficient with these briefings, and Voldemort appreciated that. But he drummed his own fingers on his desk and said in the most matter-of-fact voice he could muster,

"I shall be marrying Bellatrix Black in a few weeks' time."

Abraxas looked taken aback by the news, and Voldemort didn't need to peer into the man's head to feel the shock washing off of him. Of all the news the fearsome Lord Voldemort might have shared with his old friend and close confidant, this was not what Abraxas had been expecting. He gulped hard, gathered his wits, and said in a cracked voice,

"Please accept my most hearty congratulations, My Lord."

"Thank you. There is no need to make anything else of that," Voldemort said simply. "If anyone asks, it is true. There will not be any public ceremony or celebration."

"Understood, My Lord," Abraxas nodded. He blinked, still looking very surprised. Voldemort sighed a bit and waved his hand.

"Get the money to Madam Macnair and the baskets to the Goyles. Dismissed, Malfoy."

"Thank you, My Lord." Abraxas rose from his chair and bowed again. He went over toward the door, his hand hesitating as he said over his shoulder. "Again, My Lord… I humbly offer my congratulations."

Voldemort felt awkward as he turned up half his mouth. "Thank you, Malfoy. Good day."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_27 March 1970_

"Bloody hell! Did we all get out of there?" Avery made eye contact with the three other men in the room. Abraxas Malfoy and Tudor Yaxley were breathless but nodded that they were all right. Then all three of them turned their attention to their master, who was bleeding all over the grass outside Malfoy Manor.

"My Lord! Let me send for medical supplies at once!" cried Abraxas, but Voldemort shook his head. He was fighting to keep his face steady, not to give away the amount of pain he was experiencing right now.

"I am perfectly capable of tending to this myself," he insisted, gesturing down. He had a massive gash running from his hip to his ankle, the price he'd paid for throwing his own spell at the same time a Blasting Curse had hit him. They'd been in pursuit of an Auror tonight, and things had gone a bit wonky. But, as he now pointed out to his lieutenants, "MacLachlan is dead. That's all that matters. There's nothing to debrief. Have any of you got questions on any of it before I go home and fix up this leg?"

"My Lord, are you quite sure you're fit to Apparate?" asked Avery, looking upon the bleeding gash with horror. Voldemort sneered and demanded,

"Are you questioning my abilities, Avery?"

"N-no, My Lord. Be well," Avery stammered and took a few steps back. Both Malfoy and Yaxley looked concerned, but Voldemort gave them all a withering look and said simply,

"It's a gash. Dittany will fix it up. Let us be satisfied with having eliminated MacLachlan and not having lost any of our own. Goodnight. Go home, all of you."

"Good evening, Master," Yaxley said, bowing his head. Without another word, Voldemort Disapparated, landing hard inside the entryway of his house in St. Alban's Grove. His knees gave out at once, and he cried out very much against his will as he dragged himself into the parlour.

He collapsed onto the sofa and knew he was bleeding all over the cream upholstery. He touched at his thigh and pulled his hand back, somewhat shocked to see the amount of blood on his hand. He swore under his breath and yanked back the sleeve of his robe. He touched his wand to his Dark Mark and thought of Bellatrix, Summoning her through the ether. She would know to come here. She would have just gotten home a few hours earlier, he knew, but she would feel that his Summons were calling her here.

He dragged his wand up his leg and murmured, "Episkey… Reparifors…"

Those trivial spells would do basically nothing against the damage of a Blasting Curse. He was lucky, he knew, that his leg hadn't been blasted clean off. It was only a partial blocking of the spell that had limited the damage to carving him open like meat.

Voldemort began to feel a bit dizzy from bleeding so much, and on instinct he tipped his head back against the arm of the sofa. He could still feel blood, hot and bubbling as it leaked from his leg onto the sofa and the floor. Suddenly the door of the house creaked open, and he heard Bellatrix's voice call,

"My Lord?"

"In… in here." His voice wasn't nearly as strong as he'd have liked. He wouldn't die of this; it was impossible with all the measures he'd taken. But it certainly hurt, and there was certainly damage that would take time to heal.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix gasped, and he opened his eyes to see her dashing into the parlour. She descended at once to her knees beside the sofa and pulled out her wand. "Merlin's Beard. What's happened?"

"Wrong end of a Blasting Curse in Scotland," Voldemort said bravely. "There's Dittany in the Potion Stores cupboard in the kitchen. Go and fetch it, will you?"

"Of course, My Lord." She flew up to her feet and started trotting from the parlour, holding her wand toward the kitchen as she said firmly, " _Accio_  Essence of Dittany."

The brown glass bottle came soaring toward her, and she caught it deftly out of the air. She returned to the parlour, holding her wand between her teeth as she unscrewed the bottle. She knelt down and spit her wand out onto the floor beside her, using the glass dropper to deposit Essence of Dittany all over the wide, bloody gash. Voldemort winced from the smoking burn of the fluid on his marled skin, and Bellatrix looked distraught as she continued to drop the potion onto the wound.

"I should have been there," she moaned quietly. "I should have been there to help."

Voldemort scoffed. "You think you would have saved my leg, do you?"

She gave him a shy look, and he reached for her face. He pulled his hand back, noticing the way his skin was still dripping with his own blood. Bellatrix picked up her wand, aimed it at Voldemort's hand and then the ground, and she muttered,

" _Tergeo_."

"You're right," Voldemort conceded as all the blood was siphoned up. "You would have been helpful. But you were still on the Hogwarts Express when we left, Bella. It's fine; sometimes battles get nasty. That's the nature of war."

"But did you win the battle?" Bellatrix asked, and he smirked at her vicious nature. He nodded and informed her,

"Aengus MacLachlan is dead. That's what counts."

"That's what counts," Bellatrix nodded. He felt a surge of admiration for her then, for the way she'd come in and so matter-of-factly tended to him. Her features were warm and kind as she pulled her wand back and forth along the outside of Voldemort's leg and said gently, "Allevio."

The pulsing pain from the healing wound abated, and Voldemort swallowed hard as he studied Bellatrix's face. His voice was quiet as he teased her, "Are you are a Mediwitch now?"

She smiled and reached for his hand as she said, "I am… whatever you need me to be at any given moment, Master."

His chest caught a little then, and he told her, "I need you to be my wife."

Bellatrix chewed her lip and met his eyes. "We've agreed to that bit already, haven't we?"

"Now, I mean," he said. "Or, at least… very, very soon. We should, perhaps, decide upon the logistics."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and she blinked a few times as she nodded. Voldemort gestured vaguely toward the library and gave away the fact that he'd been doing some reading of his own these last several days.

"Far wall in the library. Third shelf from the bottom, halfway down. There is a blue leather book entitled  _Traditional Wizarding Ceremonies and Rites_. Go get it."

Bellatrix stood again, her long black skirt billowing about her a little as she walked. She looked very pretty, Voldemort thought as she walked away. She'd clearly taken her school uniform off the moment she'd come home, and now she wore a long, casual black dress with cutout sleeves. He could see her in the library, searching for the book he'd mentioned, and he shut his eyes as he realised he would have her until she died. He would bury her someday, and the thought made him sick, but for now she was his.

His leg had knitted itself back together thanks to Bellatrix's quick work, and he felt no more pain. He fixed the rips and tears in his trousers and robe as he sat up, cleaning up the rest of the blood with a few more Tergeo incantations. Bellatrix came back into the parlour, a heavy old book in her hands. She sat in the chair opposite the sofa and put the book on her lap. She fingered the golden ribbon that was sticking out the bottom of the pages, and she asked,

"Safe to assume, My Lord, that the bookmark is a spot of note?"

Voldemort pursed his lips. "Just open it and read it."

She obeyed him, peeling open the thick book and letting her eyes settle on the page he'd marked. She licked her bottom lip and then read aloud,

"The most ancient marriage rite in Britain's Wizarding community is the simple but powerful Maritus Ceremony. Performed by the two wedding spouses in private, the rite consists of three steps. First, each spouse makes three requests of the other. Second, each spouse makes three promises to the other. The third and final step consists of holding the left hands together and incanting the Maritus Charm - the couple states 'Ego Uxorem.' At the end of the rite, the souls of the couple are bound permanently, indelibly, and irreversibly. In modern times, the rite has largely fallen out of use as divorce and separation become common (an act impossible after the Maritus Ceremony) and because Ministries of Magic have no documentation of the ceremony."

Voldemort watched as Bellatrix shut the book and drummed her fingers on the cover. She stared at the book, seeming very nervous all of a sudden. Voldemort clasped his hands together on his thighs, his leg now fully healed.

"I have no desire whatsoever for the Ministry to trace my marriage," he reminded her. "And the permanence is… well, I do not find the permanence of the ceremony to be a negative component."

Bellatrix was silent, and Voldemort furrowed his brow as he whispered, " _Legilimens_."

He crashed into her mind, and he found a swirl of fear. She was afraid that he would discard her - kill her, even - if she fell out of his favour. She was terrified that one day she would no longer be appealing to him, and that he would see the only way out of the binding rite to be eliminating her. She was more than willing to die for him; she was more that willing to perish at his hand if that was what would make him happy. But she was frightened of what she had with him. Voldemort pulled out of her mind and saw shame wash over Bellatrix's face.

"Come here," he commanded her, pulling himself to his feet. His right leg ached just a little, but he was steady as he held a hand out for Bellatrix. She took it and stood from the chair, her wide eyes searching his. Voldemort bent to kiss her, pressing his lips gently against hers before saying, "I would never kill you out of boredom, Bellatrix. I never planned on marrying anyone. Not ever. 'Husband' was the very last identity I ever planned on adopting. But I'm marrying you, Bellatrix, because you make me stronger, and you make me happy, and I am intelligent enough not to leap into some foolish permanent vow I won't want to keep."

Bellatrix nodded and kissed him back, her own mouth eager after weeks apart. She tasted sweet, like she always did, and there was something very comforting in the feel of her tongue sweeping over his lips. He grunted and pulled her tightly against him, her body warm against his as he lowered his lips to her ear.

"Three requests," he said, and when he pulled back, he saw the shock on Bellatrix's face. She was registering the reality that he meant to marry her right here and now. Voldemort just nodded once and repeated, more firmly this time, "Three requests. Go ahead."

Bellatrix looked a little overwhelmed, and she put her hands on Voldemort's shoulders as she managed to say, "I ask you, My Lord, to allow me first and foremost to be your soldier. I ask you to give me a great long while to serve you in battle before…"

He smirked at her hesitation. He tipped his head and murmured, "You won't be having any children, Bellatrix. Not in any near future."

She looked relieved and nodded. "And, finally, My Lord, I ask that you grant me the honour of being in your presence with some degree of frequency, for I love you so deeply and always feel happiest when I am near you."

Voldemort petted Bellatrix's hair and mused, "What a loyal little thing you are, to ask those things of me. Bellatrix, I ask you that you represent me dutifully in public and in battle. I ask that you allow me to shower kisses upon you when I am gleeful and when I am frustrated. And I ask that you try your very best, despite your unflinching bravery, to stay alive. I have no desire at all to bury you, so stay alive for me, Bellatrix."

Her eyes flashed, and she nodded. Her breath quickened a little, and she whispered, "Promises."

He touched his lips to her forehead and repeated, "Promises."

"I promise that I belong to you wholly and completely, My Lord," Bellatrix began. "I promise that I live my life for you and will continue to do so, weathering whatever may come at me with unfailing loyalty to you. I promise that I will try to stay alive."

She seemed to grasp just how important that was to him. He kissed her cheekbone, bringing his lips beside her ear as he said very gently,

"I promise that you are the only witch I've ever desired, and the only one I ever will. I promise to be grateful for your service and for your love. And as long as I've said that word… I promise to love you, Bellatrix, just as I do now."

He felt the wet warmth of her tear as it tumbled from her cheek to his. He pulled back and brushed his thumb carefully beneath her eye. He took her left hand in his and adjusted his grip on his wand.

_"Ego Uxorem_ ," he said firmly, and Bellatrix repeated the incantation. He felt a warm flow of energy between them both, and he was surprised to see both their Dark Marks flare black for a moment. Bellatrix's tears continued unabated, and she sounded completely in awe as she asked,

"Are you… are you my husband now, My Lord?"

"Yes." He nodded and took her face in his hands. He kissed her hard, his leg suddenly feeling like he could run a mile. He seized her hand and walked quickly toward the wooden staircase. He dashed up the stairs, dragging Bellatrix with him, and he turned right into the green and mahogany bedroom. He began to kiss Bellatrix again, his fingers flying to the back of her dress. As he undid the zip, he said carefully,

"I brewed something up for you last week. The Nongravidare spell is short-acting, but the Infecundum Potion lasts a year. It'd make you quite sleepy tonight, but -"

"Yes. I'll take it." Bellatrix nodded fervently, and Voldemort aimed his wand toward the open doorway.

" _Accio_  Infecundum Potion," he said sharply. He waited a moment, and then a small turquoise glass vial came whizzing through the air, having soared up from the Potions Stores. Voldemort caught it, uncorked it, and handed the vial to Bellatrix. She stared at the potion and then him as she noted with disbelief,

"I'm married to you."

He curled up half his mouth, though of course he felt just as incredulously about that reality as Bellatrix did. He watched as she tipped the potion back and drank it, pulling a face at its sticky-sweet flavour. Voldemort Vanished the little glass vial and returned to stripping off Bellatrix's dress. She worked at the fastenings of his robes, and slowly but surely they made each other naked. One piece of clothing after another was tossed into a pile on the floor, and by the time Bellatrix's lovely breasts and smooth belly were bared to him, Voldemort was already half hard. He brushed his knuckles over Bellatrix's jaw and murmured,

"Go lie on the bed."

She did, climbing up onto the silky green coverlet and leaning back against the pillows. Voldemort followed her, arranging himself over her and staring down at her pretty face.

"Is your leg all right?" she asked worriedly, dragging her fingers up the outside of his thigh.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "I had a very good Healer."

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, then moved his lips to her neck. He suckled and nibbled as her hands caressed his arms. His kiss moved down over her collarbone, eliciting a hiss and a little moan from Bellatrix. He kept going, his lips dusting over her skin until his mouth clamped hard on her right breast. He sucked hard and flicked his tongue over her nipple, making Bellatrix arch up her back toward him as her fingers tightened on his biceps.

She parted her legs in eager desperation, and Voldemort let her rub herself against his thigh while he kept sucking on her breast. When her cry turned to one of pain, he released her and reached between her legs. His fingertips met her sopping wet, velvety folds, and he groaned with want. He seized his cock in his hand and entered her in a fluid thrust, pumping his hips slowly and deeply as he studied Bellatrix's form. His eyes examined her hips, her stomach, her breasts, her arms, her hair, her face. This was his Bellatrix, he thought. This was his wife.

That thought sent an unexpected jolt of happiness from his brain to his cock, and he bucked his hips a bit more urgently. He reached down to fiddle with Bellatrix's nub, pressing her down against his smoothly moving shaft. He tipped his head back, overcome by the physical sensation of their bodies linking up like this.

She was so young, so idealistic about his cause. She was blindly loyal to him, ferociously brave in battle. She was a sadist and a cynic. She was beautiful. She was his. She was his wife.

"Bella." Voldemort sped up his thrusting and met Bellatrix's gaze. Her eyes rolled back a little, and a rosy flush worked its way from her face down over her neck and chest. Around his cock and beneath his fingers, Voldemort could feel her finding her satisfaction. He pleased her body. That had never actually occurred to him, but it did now. It had always seemed as though her climaxes were a simple validation of his potent virality. Now those climaxes did not belong to Voldemort. They were hers. This was Bellatrix's own pleasure convulsing around him, and he found himself whispering down to her,

"You like this. When I take you… you like it when I make love to you."

It wasn't a question, or at least he didn't ask it like a question, but he needed an answer just the same. Bellatrix, true to form, answered perfectly. She reached up for the face of her husband and master, and she nodded.

"I adore when you make love to me, My Lord."

He wrenched his eyes shut, driven over his own edge by that. He pulled her hips snugly against his and felt a searing streak of bliss come over him. He could feel himself twitching and pumping inside of Bellatrix's body. She pleased his body beyond what he'd ever imagined possible. She made him crave sex, something that had never happened in over forty years of existence. Now, as he pulled himself out of her body and clumsily moved to get them both beneath the blankets, he told her,

"There wouldn't be any wife if it wasn't you. You understand that, don't you?"

Bellatrix stared at him as she lay her head down on the pillow. She finally nodded, looking tired from the effects of her contraceptive potion.

"I want to understand, My Lord, though I still fail to comprehend how it is I am worthy of any particular attention from you."

He put his lips into a line. "I shall simply have to make the reason for that clearer to you."

Bellatrix blinked very slowly, and a sly little smile crossed her lips. She shut her eyes and said in a dreamy voice,

"How funny it is that my father will be so terrified of his own son-in-law. He'll still call you 'My Lord.' Well… I'll still call you 'My Lord,' and I'm your wife. I suppose it doesn't matter."

Voldemort was amused by her rambling, but he dragged his fingertips over her wild curls as he contemplated that. She'd never called him by a name. He was My Lord or Master to her. That couldn't change, he knew. He'd already stretched himself far beyond anything he'd thought himself capable of doing. He'd fallen in love with Bellatrix. He'd married her. But he was still Lord Voldemort. He was still her master. She would call him 'My Lord,' and he would call her Bella. That much had to stay the same, or else the rest would come tumbling down.

"Bella?" Voldemort whispered, staring at her through the lamplight as she drifted off to sleep.

"Hmm?"

She was just barely awake, he could tell. He took her left hand and studied the ring he'd given her. He brought it to his lips and kissed it, murmuring, "Thank you very kindly for marrying me, Miss Black."

"It was my pleasure, Master," she whispered in reply.

His chest ached as he realised that after the Easter holiday, she'd be back at Hogwarts for another ten weeks. That was going to feel like an eternity, he reckoned. On top of it, she would need her free time to study for her NEWTs. He was reminded, suddenly and unpleasantly, of just how young his new wife was. Then he thought that her young age would just buy his immortal self more time with her. So long as she kept the promise she'd made him and tried to stay alive, he would have her for a good long while yet.

Something felt a little different about falling asleep beside her tonight. They weren't in a suite at Malfoy Manor; they were in the home Voldemort had made for them through killing and construction. They weren't just an aspirational despot and his ingenue lover. They were man and wife, titles entirely aside.

The annual Easter gathering at Malfoy Manor was the next day, and it occurred to Voldemort that Bellatrix would need to go to her parents' house for appropriate clothing in the morning. He'd go with her, he thought, to inform Cygnus and Druella Black that he'd married their daughter. It wasn't as if they had any say in the matter, but it seemed like the decent thing to do to at least tell them himself. Then the Easter event would be their coming out of sorts. There would be no fawning over one another, no kisses in public, but neither would there be stolen glances or chaste distance-keeping. He was the Dark Lord. She was his wife. Soon enough, everyone else would know that truth.

* * *

_Black Family Residence, Kensington, London_

_28 March 1970_

"Marley, go fetch my parents," Bellatrix said rather sharply as she stepped over the threshold of the townhouse. The House-Elf scampered off, calling for his master and mistress. Bellatrix felt like she'd be sick on the floor, and from beside her, Voldemort murmured,

"Come now, Bella. At least you're not Andromeda."

She couldn't help but smirk at that. Her sister had stayed at school for the Easter holiday, banished from home by her intransigent connection to the Mudblood Ted Tonks. Marrying the Dark Lord was dramatic, to be certain, but it was hardly treason.

"Bellatrix! I was so worried when you didn't come home last -" Druella Black's words were cut off as she descended the staircase and saw that her daughter was not alone. From behind her, Cygnus Black III said warmly,

"My Lord! I apologise; we were not expecting you."

"How could you be expecting me, Cygnus?" Voldemort asked dryly. "Come, let us all talk in the parlour."

It wasn't his home, but he moved as though it were, as though he owned every space he entered. He sat in the armchair where Bellatrix's father sat, and she could tell that, too, was a power move. She herself sat on the sofa, and her mother joined her as Cygnus cautiously sank into the other armchair.

"May I have some tea made up, My Lord?" Druella offered, but Voldemort waved his hand dismissively.

"Last night, Bellatrix and I performed the Maritus Ceremony with one another," he announced crisply. "She is now my wife. I thought you deserved to hear that in person from me before rumours and news make their way about."

Cygnus' mouth fell open, and Druella clapped a hand to her mouth on instinct. Bellatrix knew that Voldemort was daring either of them to be anything but fawning. He was no son-in-law; he was their master, and they were lucky enough to be the parents of his wife.

"C-congratulations to you both," Druella finally said after a long moment. Her eyes welled as she glanced between Bellatrix and Voldemort. She seemed terrified, and Bellatrix reached for her mother's hand as she said happily,

"There could be no greater life for me, Mother. I'm sure you know that."

She wanted to scream at the woman, to remind her mother that just months earlier, she'd called Bellatrix the concubine of the Dark Lord. Instead she squeezed her mother's hand and pasted on a smile.

"I don't know what to say," admitted Cygnus, and when Voldemort gave him an icy glare, he stammered, "We… this is an unspeakably great honour upon… upon the House of Black, and…"

"That will do, Cygnus." Voldemort rolled his eyes and glanced over to Bellatrix. "You came to change clothes for the Malfoy Easter gathering, did you not?"

"I did, My Lord," Bellatrix asked. She glanced over at her mother and said, "Have Marley pack everything up for me, will you, please? We've a home of our own, and I mean to go back to school straight from there."

"Yes. Of course." Druella's voice was hollow with quiet disbelief. Bellatrix rose and flashed Voldemort a little smile before she made her way up the stairs. She could hear her father and her husband start talking about fundraising efforts for the cause. She entered her childhood bedroom, the one she would leave behind forever after today, and she opened her wardrobe. She pulled out a black chiffon dress and, knowing it was entirely too dour for the occasion, Transfigured it to be jade green. She started work on her hair and makeup, and from behind her, she heard Narcissa say from the doorway,

"I was listening from the top of the stairs. I just can't believe it's true."

Bellatrix turned round to see that Narcissa was already in her own flowing spring sundress. She sighed and walked toward her younger sister.

"I'd be married to Rodolphus Lestrange soon enough if it wasn't this, you know," she said. "Almost all the girls marry straight away after school; Mother and Father did what I've just done and were married before they even left Hogwarts."

"Yes, but you've married… him." Narcissa's face went even paler than usual. "Aren't you frightened?"

"Frightened?" Bellatrix repeated with a scoff. "Silly girl. How little you understand. Don't worry; I'm sure someday you'll find yourself a perfectly amiable husband who doesn't frighten you. Lucius Malfoy, perhaps? The two of you get along very well, don't you? And he couldn't scare a fly. I'll see you at the egg hunt, Cissy."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_28 March 1970_

"Ophelia?"

Bellatrix found her crying in a small study, sitting by herself with a mostly-empty glass of wine. Dahlia hadn't known where Ophelia was, though the Selwyn family was present. Bellatrix had gone looking, snooping, feeling a pit of worry in her belly. It was sunny and warm out in the gardens, so Ophelia ought to be outside, she thought. But she'd found her here, alone in this study, looking for all the world as though someone had snapped her wand.

Ophelia raised her eyes, swollen from crying, and Bellatrix shut the door behind her. Ophelia sniffled and informed Bellatrix,

"I'm getting married in June."

"Oh. Erm… congratulations," Bellatrix said, though it didn't seem like Ophelia was looking to be congratulated. Ophelia swigged down the last of her wine and said,

"I'm getting married to Tudor Yaxley," Ophelia lamented. "He and my father are friends, you know, and… well, Yaxley's first wife couldn't have any children, and she ran away to France. That was fifteen years ago. He's forty-five years old, Bella."

Bellatrix winced, knowing now was not the time to remind Ophelia that her own spouse was in his forties. Instead she sighed and shrugged.

"Your father can't force you to marry Yaxley. If you really, really don't want to do it, then -"

"I have to marry," Ophelia spat, flashing Bellatrix an angry look. "We all do. All of us Pureblood girls have an obligation to propagate the population of actual Magical people. Or didn't you know?"

Of course Bellatrix knew. It was an unspoken rule in the Pureblood community that girls married as quickly as they could after school so that their Pureblood husbands could quickly put Pureblood children inside of them. Children born to younger mothers were more Magically powerful, or so the suspicion went. There was even a rather awful saying - Wait too long and you'll squeeze out a Squib. Pureblood witches might hold positions at the Ministry or perform other work, but they were first and foremost wives. That was more true now than ever. Bellatrix would be spared the procreation bit; the Dark Lord had dosed her just the night before with a long-acting contraceptive potion.

"I've met Tudor Yaxley many times," Bellatrix said, trying to sound warm. She sat at the desk in a chair opposite Ophelia and neatened the skirt of her jade green chiffon dress around her knees. She met Ophelia's eyes and said, "He is very brave in battle, and he is… kind-hearted. There was a time that I stumbled in the mud and he hurried to help me up…"

Bellatrix had nothing else with which to comfort Ophelia, who looked utterly devastated. Bellatrix huffed a sigh and suggested, "Why don't you come with me outside and we'll have a nice little conversation? All three of us."

"All right," Ophelia grumbled, rising from her chair. She swiped at her eyes and asked Bellatrix, "Would you mind fixing up my face? I'm afraid I'll botch it."

"Pallens," Bellatrix pronounced, aiming her wand at Ophelia. The blotchy red evidence of her distress faded pale, and Ophelia nodded her silent thanks. She followed Bellatrix out of the study and down the corridor that led to the gaping entryway of Malfoy Manor. Out on the lawn there was music and laughter, and Bellatrix flicked her eyes to Ophelia as she said gently, "Try not to look too dour."

She headed straight for Tudor Yaxley, who happened to be deep in conversation with Lord Voldemort himself. Bellatrix felt a stirring in her stomach at the fresh realisation that this man was her husband, that she was the wife of the Dark Lord. His eyes moved away from Yaxley and settled on her as she approached, and she bowed her head politely as she acknowledged him.

"My Lord."

"Now is probably a good time to tell you, Yaxley," said Voldemort in an almost stern voice, "that I've married."

Yaxley looked quite surprised, and beside Bellatrix, Ophelia's eyes went round. Voldemort sipped at the flute of Champagne in his hand, in which a cherry bobbed contentedly. He smirked at the others' reactions, and Bellatrix found herself breathlessly saying,

"Well. That news will undoubtedly travel very quickly through these gardens."

"I - I won't say anything," Yaxley said quickly. "Unless… I'm meant to, My Lord."

He seemed very confused, and more than a little frightened, so Bellatrix quickly changed the subject. She looked to Ophelia and said lightly, "Tudor, I was unaware you and Ophelia were so well-acquainted."

Voldemort frowned a bit, and Bellatrix stared right at him, inviting him into her mind. She felt the dull buzz of his Legilimency, and she pushed forth the images of Ophelia explaining her situation. Just as Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, Yaxley said in a voice that was almost shy,

"I admit I do not know nearly as much about Miss Selwyn as I'd like to."

"Well, why don't the two of you talk for awhile?" Bellatrix suggested. "Lovely day for conversation. On days like this, I often like to discuss personal interests and hobbies. Now… where are they keeping the Champagne?"

"Just this way," Voldemort said, gesturing away to his right. Ophelia looked so nervous it seemed she might pass out, but as Bellatrix walked off, she could see that Yaxley and Ophelia had managed to strike up something vaguely resembling a conversation.

"How very grateful I am not to be involved in an arranged marriage," Bellatrix mused quietly, and Voldemort's smirk was still on his face as they approached the drinks table. He picked up a flute of Champagne and handed it to her, sipping from his own as he glanced up to the manor.

"I seem to remember this event last year turning rather obscene," he said. "Or, at least, what was happening in my office was obscene."

"I do recall that, My Lord," Bellatrix grinned. She sipped from her own glass, and it was sweet from the cherry. Voldemort's face went serious, and he licked his bottom lip as he informed Bellatrix,

"Yaxley just gave me some news, and… I'm afraid I've reached my own conclusion about it. You can't go back to school, Bella."

"Why not?" Bellatrix did not ask the question defiantly, but curiously. If he was forbidding her to return to Hogwarts, she knew there must be a very good reason. Voldemort set his Champagne flute down and sighed.

"It may have been a mistake to be so open about the engagement. I have a spy among Dumbledore's band of miscreants. They've been talking about you, about us. About using you as bait."

Bellatrix chomped on her bottom lip and nodded. "Of course," she said. "They'd take me hostage and use me to lure you straight to them."

"I could approach this in one of three ways," Voldemort said carefully. "I could let them take you and ignore the situation entirely. That would probably get you killed, or at least thrown in Azkaban for murder. They'd examine your wand."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide, and Voldemort crossed his arms over his robe as he assured her,

"I am not going to take that approach. The second method would be to let them take you, use it as an opportunity for large-scale battle, and try to take Dumbledore out myself. However, I do not think the odds are favourable yet for such a battle, especially if you were unable to fight in it."

"What's the third way, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, feeling a pit of dread. He shrugged and said,

"Pull you straight into full-time service. It will mean a life outside the mainstream, at least until the Ministry is mine. NEWTs won't matter when you're married to the man in charge."

Bellatrix nodded. She knew this was a situation born of crisis, but she could not help feeling relieved. "I confess I am not displeased," she said. "I would much rather begin life as your… as your servant, as your soldier. Full-time."

She shut her eyes for a moment, realising she'd never have to lie in a bed in the Slytherin dormitories without him again. When she opened her eyes, Voldemort nodded down at her.

"By not going back to school, you're declaring yourself to be an enemy of the Ministry, of Dumbledore. You know that."

She couldn't keep a little scoff from escaping her lips as she pointed out, "My Lord, I have never not been an enemy of Dumbledore. Marrying you bound to you more concretely, but it certainly had no effect on my loyalties."

Voldemort nodded. The matter was settled. She would not be going back to school. He glanced over to where Yaxley stood and noted,

"They look more comfortable now."

It was true; Ophelia was outright laughing, and Tudor Yaxley was staring at her like she was a beautiful flower. Bellatrix shrugged.

"Perhaps arranged marriages aren't so bad, after all."

"As with everything else, I'm sure it just depends," Voldemort said stiffly. His face was slightly regretful as he said, "I don't know if it's true what they say. That Squibs come from older mothers, so it's best to start early. The superstition has led, over the last century, to a trend of women - girls, really - marrying younger and younger. I think perhaps a policy ought to be implemented. No arranged marriages until the woman is twenty years of age. And no more of this carting girls off to the beds of old men. It's unseemly."

He picked his Champagne back up, and Bellatrix just stared at him. She finally asked,

"Do not suppose, My Lord, that trying to implement such a policy might make you appear rather… erm… hypocritical?"

He scowled and said indignantly, "Me taking you as my wife is not remotely the same thing as Tudor Yaxley taking Ophelia Selwyn. He is an ordinary middle-aged man; I am Lord Voldemort. And she is an empty-headed child; you are… well, you're you. It's not the same, Bellatrix."

"But they don't know that," Bellatrix protested. When he continued to scowl, she pursed her lips and suggested, "Perhaps you could simply advise your followers on a case-by-case basis. Ensure no one feels any undue pressure? For now, anyway. I worry… with all due respect, My Lord… that if you try to legislate the issue, you'll receive kickback from traditionalist Pureblood families who can see plainly that you'd violated your own policy."

"You're right, of course," he nodded. He shrugged said in a breezy voice, "I'm sure Ophelia Selwyn will be just as happy with Tudor Yaxley as with anyone else. He is an honourable man."

"So he is." Bellatrix glanced at the pair again, at the way her friend was smiling up at her future husband. "She'll be fine."

"Bella."

She turned back to him at the sound of her name. He studied her face and seemed tempted to kiss her, right here in front of everybody. He didn't do that, of course, but he did cup her jaw in his hand and brush his thumb beneath her eye as he said,

"You're even prettier today than usual. I need to go speak with Avery."

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix said with a little smile, and she watched as he stalked away, a wraith among the flowers.


	6. Chapter 6

_Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London_

_7 May 1970_

Lord Voldemort sat in the small office he'd made for himself here at the house in St. Alban's, reading a letter from Avery about happenings at the Ministry. He set it aside as thunder rumbled outside the window, and he stared for a moment out the glass. The trees in the street were swaying precipitously in the wind. He sighed, unable to concentrate properly and reckoning that he'd done enough work for today.

Things had been quiet the last six weeks; there had been no real battles of note. It was almost as if Dumbledore was lying in wait. Let him wait and pounce, Voldemort often thought. Dumbledore would find that Lord Voldemort was predator, not prey. Still, it was almost unnerving, the way things had been so quiet and stalled. Voldemort stood by the window and contemplated the fact that Bellatrix might get taken prisoner and interrogated. She wouldn't give anything up willingly, he knew, but she needed to be able to protect her mind from invasion if it came to that. Perhaps today, when storms and general unpleasantness were ravaging the area, was a good day to begin.

He found her in the library downstairs, practising some Conjuring spells with a thick book. Even after she'd left Hogwarts, she was always in search of more information, greater abilities. He stood for a moment in the threshold of the library, watching as she faced away from him and dragged her wand through the air.

" _Lemniscus_."

Black silky ribbon was Conjured in the wake of Bellatrix's moving wand, and it fluttered down onto the pages of the book. She made a happy little sound of accomplishment, and Voldemort said from the doorway,

"Well done."

She whirled around and smiled gently at him, bowing her head. "Master."

"I am going to teach you Occlumency," he said without pretense. He showed off a bit then, Conjuring two sturdy wooden chairs one after the other. She could make ribbon; he could make chairs. She watched in awe as the heavy chairs took form, and she sat when he gestured for her to do so.

"Occlumency, My Lord?" she repeated, and she seemed a bit concerned as she asked, "Have you reason to believe I shall need it?"

"Of course I do," he said simply. "If you're captured, Dumbledore will peer straight into your mind for information. You know more of me than anyone else. They'll want your mind more than they'll want anyone else's. It is critical that you be able to protect yourself. Later on, we'll practise deception and trickery - replacing the desired information with fabricated lies. But for now, the focus will be on simply expelling someone from your mind."

Bellatrix nodded seriously. "I shall do my best to learn quickly, My Lord."

"Right." Voldemort tipped his head and considered how to describe to Bellatrix what she needed to do. He shut his own eyes and thought of his own mind. Finally he told her, "Once you feel me invading your head, fill your consciousness with empty things. Smoke. Churning water. Inky blackness with confusing sounds. An approaching train, perhaps, or a crowd of strangers. A hive of bees. Distracting, meaningless things. Then push, almost physically."

Bellatrix looked slightly overwhelmed, but she nodded and said, "Darkness. Vague visions. Confusion. Chaos. Then push."

Voldemort didn't want to give her any fair warning with his first attempt, so he muttered quietly, " _Legilimens_."

He went crashing into her head; her defenses were utterly non-existent. He flicked through her mind as though it was a book, and once he settled on what he wanted, he plucked it out. It was her memory of sitting at her desk at Hogwarts, writing an essay on Artemisia Lufkin. She was staring down at her journal, and then the Dark Lord's words appeared. I do believe I am in love with you, Bella.

"Bella!" he barked in the library. "Chaos. Darkness."

She wrenched her eyes shut, and he felt the tiniest pulse of something. A crowd at a Quidditch match. It wasn't enough; he pulled through one memory after another until he finally withdrew from her mind and said in an irritated voice,

"That was terrible."

"I'm sorry, My Lord." She lowered her face, looking quite ashamed of herself. She shook her head and admitted, "I tried to push, but…"

Suddenly Voldemort realised what had happened. He narrowed his eyes and mused, "You can't defy me."

Bellatrix raised her face to him and shook her head. "I couldn't push against you. It was as though my mind craved your presence."

Voldemort clicked his tongue and sighed. He shrugged as the rain outside began to whip harder at the window. "I suppose," he said, "You will need to begin by learning to defy me in person. If you're to shove me roughly from your head, you need to at least be able to say no to me."

Bellatrix's eyes went round. "I'm not sure I can do that, Master."

Voldemort licked his bottom lip. "Get on the ground and kiss my shoe."

She actually started to make a move to lower herself from the chair, and he wrenched her arm back as he shook her head. "Defy me. Tell me no."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and her eyes welled a little as she said desperately, "My Lord, I don't want to disobey you."

He smirked. "There. You just did. I told you to disobey me, and you fought back."

She looked shocked. "But -"

"There. You did it again." Voldemort tipped his head, ignoring the violent purple flash of lightning outside and the almost immediate crash of thunder. He glanced down and then back up to Bellatrix and said in a quiet voice, "Get down on the ground, Bellatrix. Kiss my shoe."

Her bottom lip shook fiercely as she whispered. "No. I won't do it."

"Good girl," he said, but she huffed out a breath and said,

"I feel ill."

That could be from the way he'd searched her mind, he knew, or it could be anxiety from defying him. It didn't matter. She needed to be able to push him out of her head, or she'd never keep Dumbledore out. He rose from his chair and stalked slowly around her body, dragging his fingertips up her chest and over her neck. He stood behind her and played with her hair a little, keeping his own body very casual as hers tightened with stress. He let his hands drift over her curls, and he whispered,

_"Legilimens_."

Once again her mind cracked wide open for him, but this time he felt the dull throb of rebellion. He watched the two of them dancing on New Year's Eve. He'd been so drunk, he noticed as he watched it from her perspective. But as the memory continued and began to get obscene, with her stripping off her clothes for him, a shock of screaming darkness took over. It only lasted a moment, and the push he felt from her was so weak that he could have seen whatever he wanted with any serious effort. Still, it was better than before. He pulled out of her mind and felt her shoulders shaking beneath his hands.

"Stand up, Bellatrix," he instructed her. She hesitated; she wasn't sure whether she was meant to obey him or not. He squeezed at her shoulders a little and snarled through his teeth, "I said stand up."

"No," she said, her voice shaking. Voldemort leaned down and put his lips beside her ear.

"I am your husband. I am your lord, your master. You are my servant. Do as I say, Bella. Stand. Up."

"No," she said again, more firmly this time. Voldemort smirked to himself, snatching her arm and yanking her out of her chair. She looked tired when he whirled her around, and he knew that was from the incredible effort required to fend him off. Occlumency was utterly exhausting to a new practitioner. But he had no time to accommodate her fatigue. He pulled her hard toward the wall and slammed her back up against the bookshelf. He used his fingers to nudge up the bottom of her miniskirt and crushed her mouth with his. He willed her to resist him, to show him that she could use her own agency instead of always submitting.

"Hmm-mmm," she hummed against his mouth, her spindly fingers wrapping around his wrist. She was a bit weak as she made a half-hearted effort to pull his hand from her thigh. He ignored her, using his knuckled to stroke the outside of her knickers. Her breath quickened in her nostrils, and soon enough she was actively kissing him back. A damp heat started to soak through her knickers, and Voldemort wrenched his mouth from hers as he scolded her,

"You're not fighting me off at all, Bella. You're wet. You want it."

"I can't help that, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. She brushed her thumb against his, and he gave her a warning look as he pushed aside the crotch of her knickers. She gasped and clutched at the ledge in front of the bookshelf. He twisted two fingers into her and played with her nub as he said,

"I want to fuck you, Bella. Right here, right up against these books, I'm going to fuck you."

"N-no," she said softly, but he shook his head and scoffed out a dark laugh as he informed her,

"That sounded much more like you were begging me to do it, Bella."

He was hard in his own trousers now, and he touched his forehead to her as he cupped her breast in his free hand. If she wasn't careful, he was just going to take himself out and plunder her right here. Somehow he had the presence of mind to remind her,

"Fight me off, Bella.  _Legilimens_."

Her mind was hazy this time, as if she was drugged by her arousal. He reached for an image of her in the Doxy's Head on her hands and knees, but there was a screech, like a train whistle, and a cloud of angry black smoke. He pulled out of her head, his fingers stilling on her as he said proudly,

"Good. Very good." He began to feel so excited then that he could hardly breathe; her eyes were shining and her lips were slick from kissing him. She was on the verge of a climax, he could feel. He sped up his ministrations, his fingers soaked by her. He kissed her roughly before he challenged her again by whispering against her mouth, "I'm going to fuck you right here against these books, Bella."

"No!" She pushed a little at his chest, but he ignored her. She still wanted it; she wasn't being very convincing in resisting. She was about to finish on his fingers, and he flicked her nub in a way that always drove her mad. Bellatrix growled in an angry tone she'd never used with him. Her right hand flew up and smacked his face, halfway between a punch and a slap.

Voldemort was so shocked by the way she'd hit him that he staggered backward, his hand completely covered in her essence. Her face was instantly painted by fear as she stood with her hands pressed to the books. Her cheeks were stained dark pink, from arousal or from terror, Voldemort did not know. He brought his left hand to his jaw, which cracked a little when he opened his mouth. She'd really hit him, he thought. She'd hit him with all she had. He met her eyes, still rubbing at his jaw as he whispered,

" _Legilimens_."

This time her mind resisted him at once. He found no memories whatsoever. He flung himself through the hazy darkness her mind had conjured, the endless starry skies and the ferocious seas and the screaming of a thousand voices. It was no use; she'd closed herself off to him. He pulled out of her head, slowly and gently so she wouldn't feel sick, and he licked his lip as he told her breathlessly,

"That's good, Bella. That's… very good."

She blinked quickly, looking for all the world like she was going to dissolve into a puddle of tears. "I'm so sorry that I struck you, Master."

He laughed quietly and shook his head. "It's hardly as though I didn't goad you into doing it. You pack quite a punch, I'll grant you."

His jaw was still a little sore. He raised his own wand and cast a nonverbal Episkey and Allevio to heal it all up. Bellatrix still looked frightened and humiliated. She took a step away from the books and said cautiously,

"You do know, don't you, that I wanted it?"

"Oh, yes. I know that." Voldemort quirked up half his mouth, glancing down at the hand that he'd had buried in her quim a few minutes earlier. Bellatrix, for her part, was staring at the lump in his trousers.

"Please, Master," she murmured, her eyes cast down, "May I use my mouth to pleasure you?"

She was trying to re-establish the dynamic they'd always had. That made Voldemort very happy, and he nodded.

"Yes, you may."

She sank down to her knees and carefully unbuttoned his trousers. As she pulled him out and suckled his length into her throat, he considered that she'd been so close her own climax, and now all she cared about was that he found release. That was as it should be; he was her master, no matter what games they played to learn something new. Voldemort cast a  _Dulcis_  spell on himself to sweeten his seed. She'd earned that, at least. As she pulled him deeply into her mouth and everything tensed up within him, he felt enormous pride over her. She was intelligent in so many ways. She was calculating, despite her occasional fear of him. And she did adore him more than life itself.

She swallowed the fluid that his body released, drinking it up as though it were the elixir of life. When she'd finished, she pulled away and stared up at Voldemort with wide eyes and pearly lips. He made a little sound against his will, suddenly overcome by how pretty she was. He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip and informed her matter-of-factly,

"I love you, Bella. Stand up."

"Yes, My Lord." She rose, her fingers tucking him away and buttoning up his trousers as a fresh flash of purple lightning flared outside.

* * *

_Yaxley Residence, Peterborough_

_13 June 1970_

"Well, what do you know?" Bellatrix mused, gazing across the ballroom at the way Ophelia was dancing with her new husband. "She actually looks happy."

She did, too. Ophelia had donned a lace-and-satin confection of a gown, and she was smiling contentedly up at Tudor Yaxley as the two of them shared their first dance. Bellatrix glanced up at Lord Voldemort, who looked terribly handsome in his full tuxedo robes. He didn't really want to be here, she knew. He thought it was unwise to be at social events like this that might tempt his enemies to appear. But the Selwyns and Yaxleys had wisely limited the guest list to around fifty, and though the Yaxley mansion was impressive, it was hardly like the grand events held at Malfoy Manor. Besides, Tudor Yaxley was one of the Dark Lord's very best soldiers, and it was important that the master throw his servant a bone, so to speak. Now Voldemort sipped at his red wine and said quietly,

"Yaxley told me last week that he was very much looking forward to marrying Ophelia." He tipped his head and said with a touch of distaste, "He also promised to put a child in her as quickly as possible."

Bellatrix curled her lip up and forced herself to murmur, "Well, good on them for creating more Purebloods, I suppose."

"I suppose." Voldemort sighed and stared at Bellatrix for a long moment. She began to feel self-conscious, so she finally shrugged and asked,

"What is it, My Lord?"

"That dress," he said simply, sipping from his wine again. "That's the dress you were wearing the first time I kissed, that's all."

"Oh. So it is." Bellatrix glanced down at her figure-hugging black gown. When she looked up again, she saw Dahlia Greengrass grinning madly at her, and Bellatrix said softly, "Will you excuse me, My Lord?"

"Of course," he said, taking another sip of wine. Bellatrix hurried around the back of the crowd of guests and whispered to Dahlia,

"What? What is it?"

"Look." Dahlia held out her left hand, where a gold band and a modest diamond sat. Bellatrix gasped and said happily,

"Rabastan's finally done it, then. Congratulations, Dahlia."

She started to stroke her thumb over her left forearm, very much on instinct. Dahlia nodded and breathlessly whispered,

"You know he took the Dark Mark just last week. He's to be a soldier for the Dark Lord. And I'm to be his wife. I just couldn't be happier, Bella."

Bellatrix stroked her own Mark more firmly, deriving comfort from the act of doing so. She was troubled by how very content Dahlia and Ophelia seemed in being leave-at-home accessories. Still, she forced a smile again and told Dahlia,

"I'm ecstatic for you. And for Rabastan. Becoming a Death Eater and getting engaged, all in a few days. It's exciting."

Suddenly she felt a push against her head, and she knew at once that Voldemort was using Legilimency on her. She took her defences down, but all she felt from him was an angry red flare. She turned her head toward him to see him glaring at her, his wine glass clutched tightly in his hand. Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she told Dahlia,

"I have to go. I'll see you soon."

"Bella?" Dahlia asked cautiously. "Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes," Bellatrix said quickly, grinning. "Very happy. I'll talk to you later."

She dashed back around the periphery of the assembled guests, shrugging helplessly as she stepped up to Voldemort.

"Something wrong, My Lord?" she whispered, and his voice trembled as he commanded her,

"Don't ever do that again."

Bellatrix felt frightened and confused. "Do what, Master?"

"Touch you Mark like that in public," he snarled through clenched teeth. His whisper was barely audible then as he informed her, "It is unacceptable for me to go hard in a room full of my followers."

"Oh. I'm so sorry, My Lord; I wasn't even thinking as I did it," Bellatrix insisted. "It was… absentminded. I am sorry."

He shut his eyes and sighed, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. He seemed to be trying to calm himself down. They still weren't entirely certain what the link between their Dark Marks meant. It had grown stronger, Bellatrix had noticed, in the three months that they'd been married. She would have to try harder in future not to touch the Mark distractedly. The last thing she wanted to do was to impose an erection on her husband before his servants.

"Dance with me," he said finally, opening his eyes. Bellatrix glanced over to see that other couples were taking their places on the dance floor, and she nodded as she took Voldemort's arm. She said very meaningfully,

"It would be an honour to dance with you, My Lord. It always is."

He led her toward the dance floor, and the guests parted like a sea for him. Every gave subservient nods and bows or averted their eyes toward the floor. Bellatrix might have felt powerful, like the wife of an emperor, but she was his servant just as much as the rest of them. She caught Rodolphus Lestrange's eye, and he dared to smile a little at her. She remembered when it had seemed all but certain that she would marry Rodolphus. How things had changed.

She let herself get swept into a dancing stance by the man she had married, the man who ruled over them all with power none of them could fathom. Bellatrix adored the feel of his hand on her back, of his fingers around hers, and she stared up at him knowing she must look like an infatuated child.

"Is this what you wanted?" Voldemort asked quietly. When Bellatrix furrowed her brow in confusion, he clarified, "The party. The Champagne. The wedding dress. Is that what you wish you'd had?"

Bellatrix tried not to laugh at him as she shook her head fiercely and said, "I didn't want a dress, My Lord; I wanted you."

He seemed very pleased by that answer, but then his face darkened a little and he glanced furtively around the room.

"You want to leave," Bellatrix said knowingly. He raised his eyebrows at her as they swayed, and he asked,

"Are you a Legilimens now?"

"I don't need to read your mind, My Lord. I can read your face just fine." Bellatrix chewed her lip and suggested, "Finish this dance with me and then tell Yaxley you don't think it's wise for you to stay?"

He nodded. "You may stay, if you wish. To… socialise. With your friends."

Bellatrix scoffed. "They were roommates in my Slytherin dormitory, My Lord. I have no real need of or desire for friendship."

He turned up half his mouth, and she knew why. He had no need of friends, either. He only needed servants. They were kindred spirits in their shared misanthropy. Bellatrix cemented that idea by confessing,

"These shoes hurt my feet. I want to go home and take them off and get in a long, hot bath."

"Do you?" he seemed amused by that, his hands tightening on her as he asked softly, "and what will you do after your bath, Bella?"

She demurely lowered her eyes, but she smiled a bit. "I'll do whatever my husband desires."

* * *

_Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London_

_13 June 1970_

Bellatrix luxuriated in the feel of the hot water around her, in the scent of the rose oil she'd put in her bath, and she shut her eyes to take it all in.

" _Legilimens_ ," she heard a voice murmur from the doorway to the bathroom. Bellatrix smirked as she shoved him roughly from her mind, everything collapsing into a black dusty void. She opened her eyes to see him leaning against the threshold, his dress shirt unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up. He nodded and said seriously,

"You're getting very good at that."

"I've had the world's most amazing teacher," she said, only half-teasing him. He stood up off the threshold and stalked into the bathroom, studying Bellatrix's naked body where she reclined in the tub.

"Bella." Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest, and he seemed more severe than ever. "I have carefully considered my options, and I've made… I've made my decision."

Bellatrix felt a coil of unease in her belly, and she shook her head. "Made your decision about what, My Lord?"

"I won't let you die." He leaned back against the wall and seemed very troubled indeed as he stared at Bellatrix. She reached through the water to unplug the drain, thinking that this was a matter that needed to be discussed properly. Voldemort held a fluffy white towel out as Bellatrix pulled herself from the bath, and she nodded her thanks as she wrapped it around her torso.

"I am going to tell you something," Voldemort announced, tucking Bellatrix's damp hair behind her ear, "but if I decide it was a mistake to tell you, I am going to Obliviate you. Do you understand?"

"Not really," Bellatrix admitted, "but I trust your judgment, My Lord."

His throat bobbed and he sounded both anxious and rehearsed as he said, "There exists magic which allows one to transfer part of one's soul into an object. The spells are complicated and must be performed after a murder. I have several of them; you don't need to know the specifics. But having these objects - these Horcruxes - ensures that I will never die. Not really."

Bellatrix felt shock strike her through. She was dizzy, and not from the hot water, as she asked, "So… if someone tried to… to kill you, My Lord…?"

"I would simply place my soul back into a corporeal form," he said primly. "It is the only real method of achieving immortality that I have been able to discern. And I wish for you to create a Horcrux of your own, because I simply refuse for there to be a situation in which your body is cold and dead and I bury you and that's it. I will not accept such a future."

Bellatrix blinked quickly. "Does… does it hurt?" she asked, "Taking away a part of your soul and putting it into an object for storage?"

"It doesn't feel like much of anything," Voldemort shrugged. Then he amended, "It's tiring. Exhausting, actually. Each time, I've been relegated to bed rest for a few days afterward. But I will help you. You'll be fine."

Bellatrix just stared. He was so very Dark, she realised. Darker than any human who had ever lived, probably. He was the only one who had ever actually appreciated her own Darkness instead of seeing her as frightening or distasteful. And he did not want to be made to live without her. He wanted to ensure that if either of them were killed, the other would not have to go on alone. She didn't care what cost, if any, came to her body or soul of this. If it was what he wanted of her, then it was what she would do.

"You said that creating a Horcrux has to happen after a murder," Bellatrix noted, and Voldemort nodded. She shrugged and tried her best to sound casual as she asked,

"Would an ordinary Muggle do?"

* * *

_Hackney, London_

_17 June 1970_

They'd rehearsed. They'd practised. But Voldemort was still nearly paralysed with anxiety as he stood in a secluded alley. Bellatrix was out on the street, dressed in nothing but a bra and a short skirt as she pretended to be a prostitute. Voldemort's stomach churned as a drunken Muggle man staggered up to Bellatrix.

"Hello, dearie," she said smoothly, petting the man's shoulder. "Fancy a quick go right here? Up against the wall? Three quid."

"Mmm." He was the fourth one to approach her, and he seemed by far the most interested. He drank deeply from a brown glass bottle in his hand. Voldemort sneered as he watched the Muggle put his hands on Bellatrix's waist. She did a good job of masking her disgust, but Voldemort's hand tightened around his own wand, and he was very tempted to kill the bastard himself.

He backed into the shadows as Bellatrix lured the Muggle into the alley. He cast a nonverbal Muggle repelling charm toward the place where the alley led to the street, and he knew they were free to act at will here. He watched as Bellatrix pushed the man up against the brick wall and let him paw at her breasts. Then she put one hand on the waistband of his trousers and used her other hand to pull out her wand. She touched the tip of her wand to the man's neck and said unapologetically,

_"Avada Kedavra."_

There was a flash of green light that any passing Muggles wouldn't see, and then the man Bellatrix had killed crumpled down against the brick wall. Voldemort came out of the shadows and handed Bellatrix her Horcrux - the silver serpent bracelet he'd given her the year before. Bellatrix quickly took the bracelet and touched her wand to it, murmuring the spells she'd memorised after Voldemort had taught them to her. He watched as an ethereal streak of flesh-coloured light pulled itself from her, traveling through her wand and dissolving against the silver bracelet.

" _Anima divita_ ," Bellatrix murmured, sounding like she was in a trance. " _Anima immortalis. Anima divita. Anima immortalis._ "

After a long moment, a quiet stillness settled on the alley. Bellatrix looked rather terrified as she studied the silver bracelet, but Voldemort plucked it from her hand and reminded her,

"It will be kept under the floorboards of Room Eight in the Doxy's Nest, and I shall protect it with all manner of wards. I'll take it there tomorrow whilst your resting. I'll be disguised. Everything is going to be fine, Bellatrix, now that this is done."

She seemed to have gotten more beautiful somehow. Even in the dim light of the streetlamps, he could see that her face had sharpened a little, that her dark eyes glistened with a new wildness. She nodded and asked,

"What should I do with the Muggle, My Lord?"

"Leave him," Voldemort shrugged. "Their police will think it was drugs. Come; I shall take you by Side-Along. You're weaker than you realise right now."

* * *

_Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London_

_18 June 1970_

The house was quiet was Voldemort came back in. He'd just come from Hogsmeade, having Transfigured his features to look entirely different. He'd Imperiused the goblin at the front desk of the Doxy's Nest so that he could get access to Room Eight for a few hours. He'd put Bellatrix's bracelet beneath the floorboards, under the rug, and he'd cast all manner of memory-altering spells and repelling charms to protect it. He'd felt odd leaving the room, almost as odd as he'd felt the times he'd hidden his own Horcruxes. There was a piece of Bellatrix inside that bracelet now, and it felt unnatural to leave it buried in a cheap hotel room.

Now he was back at the house in St. Alban's Grove, and he kicked off his shoes near the front door. He stripped off his outer robe and hung it up on the rack, climbing the stairs and thinking that Bellatrix was probably still propped up on the pillows with a book. When he came into their room, she was fast asleep, her face looking pale but peaceful where she lay curled up on the bed. Voldemort smiled at her, just staring for a long moment. She was so very brave, he thought. So obedient and courageous and powerful in her own right. He unbuttoned the black linen shirt he'd worn to fend off the heat, and he cast a fresh cooling spell in the bedroom.

He stripped down to his own underwear and climbed into the bed, pulling Bellatrix against him. She moved a little and made a soft sound, but he knew she was still asleep. He remembered the first time he'd created a Horcrux, the way he'd been intractably exhausted for days afterward. He stroked Bellatrix's hair and kissed her cheek as he whispered,

"I am very proud of you."

She didn't answer. She was lost to sleep, and so he just held her, breathing her in and feeling more grateful than he could say that he would not be forced to endure the loss of her.

Hours passed, and after awhile, the sun went down and Voldemort figured he might as well sleep, too. He dreamed of Bellatrix, middle-aged and beside him. He was old and no longer handsome, but he was powerful beyond measure. When he woke, staring at the ceiling, his heart was thudding. Somehow, his racing heartbeat seemed to awaken Bellatrix, who pushed herself up onto her elbows beside him and asked in a groggy voice,

"What time is it?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting to read it in the darkness. "One o'clock," he said.

Bellatrix rubbed at her eye and said, "I just can't get past how tired I feel, My Lord. Been this way for a whole day now."

"It's to be expected," he reassured her. Then he tipped his head and told her, "In the morning, I'll give you some Invigoration Draught. Just enough to help you stay awake and eat a bit."

He petted her hair, and she gave him a warm look as she informed him, "I dreamed of you."

"Did you?" He raised an eyebrow and asked, "What did you dream?"

"I dreamed we were both much older," she said, and his veins went cold as she continued, "You were immensely powerful, My Lord. You had everything you wanted. And I was there with you."

When his hand stilled on her hair, she seemed nervous, and he explained tightly, "I had the same dream."

"Just now?" she frowned, covering and stifling a yawn. Voldemort nodded once, feeling more alarmed than ever at just how connected he'd become to her. She, too, appeared a bit troubled, but Voldemort insisted,

"A coincidence, probably."

She nodded, looking very sceptical indeed. She stretched a little, and Voldemort thought surely she'd lie back down and fade off to sleep again. Instead, she asked in a dreamy voice,

"May I ask you something, My Lord?"

"Yes." He sat up a bit more, propping himself on the pillows. Bellatrix stifled another yawn, her eyes bleary as she asked,

"Was your name Tom?"

He froze. His chest yanked strangely, but he kept his face stony. "What makes you ask that?"

Bellatrix rubbed a fist into her eye and mumbled, "I dreamed that, too. Earlier, when you were taking the bracelet to Hogsmeade. I dreamed of a young man named Tom, and I know it was you, because your eyes and your lips were exactly the same. You were working in Borgin and Burke's. But I suppose it was just a dream."

Voldemort chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Finally he informed Bellatrix roughly, "That isn't my name anymore."

She nodded slowly. "I know. I know who you are, My Lord. I love you are. I worship who you are, Master. I was just… wondering if it was real."

"I do not care to speak of any of that," he told her crisply, and she looked worried as she yawned again.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, and though he was concerned about all these dreams she was having, he shook his head no. Bellatrix rubbed her forehead and said, "I also dreamed… erm… well, it was rather obscene. Hmph."

Voldemort scoffed a little and urged her to lie down. "Once you're feeling stronger," he told her, "I'll touch you until you can barely breathe from how good it feels. Right now you should rest."

She nodded, or maybe she didn't, but either way she fell back asleep. Voldemort was left feeling mildly terrified as he stared at her peaceful face. She'd dreamed the same thing as him. She'd dreamed of his past. He knew their Dark Marks were more closely linked than ever. They were married through a permanently binding magical ceremony. She'd created a Horcrux. Perhaps, he thought, he'd gone too far. She was a part of him now, and he was a part of her. They were meshed in a way he could have never anticipated. He should have been angry, with himself and with her, but instead he was just frightened. So he stared at her and watched her sleep, trying to convince himself that all of this would make him stronger.

* * *

_Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London_

_24 June 1970_

"Bellatrix."

She turned from where she'd been Transfiguring pebbles into rats and then Vanishing them. She quickly Vanished all her work and took a few steps across the library. Voldemort had just come into the house, having left a meeting at Malfoy Manor. He looked anxious, and Bellamort tucked her wand away as she demanded,

"What's happened, My Lord?"

"Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange were in Wales last night. A simple fact-finding mission. Albus Dumbledore appeared. Yaxley says that, just before he and Lestrange Disapparated, he could feel Dumbledore in his mind."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She felt a surge of anger as she said, "He doesn't have the courage to actually take someone prisoner properly."

"Perhaps not," Voldemort admitted. "He doesn't bandy about with Cruciatus Curses, nor would he quickly Imperius my soldiers to go with him. It's a weakness of his; he is merciful at the expense of his so-called 'cause.' But he used Legilimency on Yaxley."

"Did he find anything important, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort shrugged.

"Yaxley said Dumbledore pulled out images of his wedding. Probably so that he could see who was in attendance. That's all he got before Yaxley Disapparated."

"Do you plan on teaching him Occlumency, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort snorted a little laugh as he raked his fingers through his hair.

"He hasn't the temperament for it, nor the mental fortitude. But you need to continue practising. If Dumbledore stumbles across you in battle, he won't hesitate for an instant. He'll want straight into your head. I know, because if there was anyone that close to Dumbledore, I'd want in their head. Information is more valuable than anything else."

"I can keep you out now, My Lord," Bellatrix reminded him, but he looked uncertain as he said,

"It's still too playful; you're always smiling about it. It needs to feel angry. It won't be a joke with Dumbledore. Legilimens."

He'd given her no warning at all, though of course Bellatrix wouldn't get any warning from Dumbledore, either. To make matters worse, Voldemort yanked out a memory that was so shocking Bellatrix got distracted.

Bellatrix covered Tarquin Avery's hands on her cheeks and noted, 'You've been pursuing me since we were third-years.'

'Mm-hmm.' Avery smiled, a bit bitterly, and said, 'You've been rejecting me the whole time. And yet I persisted, sometimes against the logic of propriety.'

'I'm not rejecting you now,' Bellatrix told him. It was all wrong, the way he put his hands on her waist and lowered his mouth to hers.

"Bellatrix!" barked Voldemort. "Push me out! Now!"

Bellatrix tried. She tried to fill her mind with black chaos. She tried to thrust her husband away. But the awful memory kept playing relentlessly. Avery was kissing her; Bellatrix was tasting him and feeling filthy as his tongue danced with hers.

" _STUPEFY!_ " Bellatrix shrieked in desperation, yanking her wand from her pocket and aiming it at Voldemort. He flicked her spell away as though it was nothing, and a flurry of blue sparks sent some books tumbling from the shelves. He gave her a warning look and said again, more quietly this time,

"Push me out, Bella."

She wrenched her eyes shut and mentally destroyed the memory. It was like she'd set the deserted classroom on fire, and the image of Avery kissing her curled and disappeared like burning paper. Bellatrix pulled a thought from her own consciousness, a mundane image of a Potions lesson where she and Dahlia were gossipping about a particularly oafish Hufflepuff boy. The new memory grew brighter, stronger, and then Bellatrix seized on the presence of Voldemort in her head. She pushed him out roughly, like he was an animal attacking her and she needed to escape.

She opened her eyes, feeling exhausted as she leaned heavily on the table before her. Voldemort looked very proud, and he nodded as he said gently,

"That was good. Come here."

Bellatrix was panting, her heart racing, and she shook her head. "No."

Voldemort tipped his head and smirked. "Practising that, too, are you? Fine, then. Get over here, Bellatrix, or you'll be washing my laundry by hand for the next month."

Bellatrix gulped. "No."

He seemed amused or aroused, or perhaps both, as he stalked over to her. She felt him suddenly press into her mind, and she knew he'd used nonverbal Legilimency. She immediately pushed him out and thought of picking flowers in her aunt's garden as a child. Voldemort's eyes flashed. He seized Bellatrix's left hand and smashed it against the front of his trousers. She felt a half-hard lump there, and he lowered his face as he growled,

"Touch my cock, Bella."

"No!" She tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip on her wrist and started to make her hand rub at him. Bellatrix was dizzy with want, desire she needed to overcome within herself before she could convincingly reject him. She pushed at his chest with her right hand, but he was physically much stronger.

" _Legilimens_ ," Voldemort whispered, and this time she never even felt his presence in her head. They were both spurred on by how fiercely she'd resisted his intrusion. He went harder beneath her hand, and he reached with his free hand to grasp at her backside. Bellatrix still had her wand in her hand, and she jabbed it against Voldemort's chest as she cried,

" _Flipendo!_ "

Her Knockback Jinx was immediately rebounded; he was entirely too powerful not to block it on instinct. His hand moved to the small of her back as the jinx socked Bellatrix in the chest. He kept her from falling, though it still felt like she'd been kicked between her breasts. She coughed and spluttered a little, and her wand clattered on the wooden floor as she dropped it.

" _Legilimens_ ," she heard Voldemort say.

"No!" she exclaimed, physically pushing at him as her mind kept him out. Even after her mind had thoroughly rejected him, she kept shoving at his chest and arms. Voldemort pushed her back against the bookshelves and murmured,

"That's enough, Bella. You've done well. Stop now."

Her head was swimming, and her eyes welled as she tried to make sense of what was a game, what was battle training, and what was real. Voldemort's mouth was on hers, his lips surprisingly gentle as he soothed away her uncertainty.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth, and Bellatrix hummed on his lips as she realised the struggle was done. Her skirt was being hiked up, though she was too dizzy to help that happen. Her knickers were sliding down over her thighs. All Bellatrix could do was wrap her arms around Voldemort's shoulders as he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled himself out. He pushed himself into her as she scooted up on the ledge that went around the edge of the library. He felt good inside of her, better than he'd ever felt. It was like she'd been empty and alone until this moment, as if the presence of his cock inside of her body completed her very being.

"Bella," he huffed against her neck, his hips pulsing quickly. "You did well, Bella. You like when I'm inside of you, don't you?"

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she heard herself say quietly, "Yes, My Lord. I do. Yes. Yes."

She was saying that word over and over because it always felt so very wrong to tell him no. It had helped her develop real Occlumency skills, she knew, but it drained her and made her uncomfortable. This, the way that he was buried to the hilt within her, the way that he was kissing her mouth, the way his breath mingled with hers… this was right. This was how things were meant to be. She understood his concerns. She knew why training her mind was so necessary. But she needed this. She needed him flush against her like he was now, spilling himself inside of her, his mouth latching onto her neck as she whispered,

"I love you. I love you."

"Mmm-hmm." He nodded against her neck, and he let his softening cock slide out of her body. She tipped her head back against the books as he cleaned them up, and then he took her by the waist to lower her to the ground. Bellatrix glanced around and said quietly,

"I'm sorry I tried to Stupefy you, My Lord. And I'm sorry… for the Knockback Jinx."

He cocked up an eyebrow. "You're the one that took the brunt of that jinx. I probably shouldn't have shielded myself. It's instinct now."

"Too many battles," she teased him, reaching up to straighten the hair she'd mussed. Voldemort smirked.

"There's no such thing. Come on, Little Thing. Let's get some lunch, eh?"

* * *

Author's Note: Fair warning that there are about three chapters left in this story. In the meantime, thank you again so much for reading and for any feedback!

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**Chapter 32** **: Playing the Sentimental Husband**   **Chapter Text**

Diagon Alley, London

2 September 1970

"Good afternoon, Miss Black." Auberon Alya, the proprietor of Magical Menagerie, looked more than a little uneasy as he stepped out from behind the counter. "May I help you?"

"I'm in search of a new familiar," Bellatrix said simply. "A snake."

Auberon Alya shook his head regretfully and said, "I haven't any snakes at the moment, Miss Black. The students that just left for Hogwarts cleared me out; I've got some new animals coming on shipment over the next few weeks. I hadn't ordered any snakes, but of course I could, if you wanted one."

Bellatrix nodded. "Just an ordinary garden snake," she said. She plopped a few Galleons on the counter and said, "I'll be back in three weeks' time. Will you have it by then?"

Alya took the money and nodded. "I certainly can try, Miss Black. Anything else?"

"No. Good day." Bellatrix walked quickly out of Magical Menagerie and glanced about. She'd deliberately waited to come to Diagon Alley until the chaos of the new Hogwarts year had died down. Now the place was downright deserted. She already had a full sack of ingredients from Slug and Jiggers to replenish the Potions Stores she and Lord Voldemort kept. She'd also bought a new dress at Twillfit and Tattings, a floor-length black velvet gown with a flowing chiffon cape. Bellatrix wanted to leave as quickly as possible. It did not seem wise to be out and about like this, where anyone might quickly notify Dumbledore or other enemies. She found a quiet spot and Disapparated, reappearing just outside the door of the house in St. Alban's Grove.

When she went inside, the house was empty and quiet. She headed into the kitchen and put away her potions ingredients, and then she trotted upstairs to hang up her new gown in the wardrobe. Suddenly she heard the front door slam shut, and the Dark Lord's voice cried angrily,

"Bloody hell!"

There was a crash that Bellatrix knew was the coat rack being knocked over. She dashed out onto the landing and leaned over the bannister as Voldemort flung his wand toward the mirror on the wall and snarled, "Reducto!"

"My Lord!" Bellatrix cried as the mirror erupted into millions of tiny shards. "What's the matter?"

She started to make her way down the stairs, but Voldemort padded up the stairs and edged her back into the bedroom. Bellatrix frowned deeply and asked again,

"What's happened?"

Voldemort tore off his outer robe and his tie, carefully pulling off the tie bar Bellatrix had given him on his forty-second birthday. He set it on the table beside their bed and flung the robe and tie over the chair by the writing desk. He raked his fingers through his hair and told Bellatrix flatly,

"Abraxas Malfoy put his wife in the hospital."

Bellatrix frowned. "What's happened to Cerda?"

The witch was the cousin of Bellatrix's mother, so Bellatrix had known her a good long while. Voldemort gave Bellatrix a withering look and said,

"Abraxas happened to Cerda. He… lost his temper." He said those words with an enormous amount of distaste. He shook his head and added, "Those two have been going at one another like cats for years, but these past few months, it's been distractingly fierce. They despise one another."

"How awful," Bellatrix sighed. "What did he do to her?"

Voldemort shut his eyes and said quietly, "They were arguing. Again. He sent her crashing against the wall with a highly charged Knockback Jinx. Her head cracked on the wall. She's at St Mungo's now; they say she'll be fine, but…"

"But the Rosiers now probably hate Abraxas Malfoy, too," Bellatrix nodded. That might include her mother, she knew, which would complicate matters given that Lucius Malfoy was now in a fledgling relationship with Narcissa.

"I can't have infighting, you understand," Voldemort said angrily. "I can't have petty marital disputes tearing apart the loyalties of my servants. This is exactly what Dumbledore would want; he'd want for my soldiers to be arguing so that my movement lacks unity."

"Would you like me to write to my mother, Master?" asked Bellatrix. "I can encourage her to make the Rosier family drop the matter, to move on."

Voldemort rubbed at his forehead. "Cerda's going back to live with her parents after all this. They're still alive; they still have a manor house. Abraxas will be duly punished. I'm handling it."

"But you're frustrated," Bellatrix noted. Voldemort huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yes. I am frustrated by Abraxas' inability to control his anger without catapulting his wife into a wall. I am frustrated by reports - from more than one person - that Cerda has been unfaithful to Abraxas. These are not issues with which the Dark Lord himself ought to be concerned. And, yet, the unity of my force is of utmost importance."

Bellatrix lowered her eyes and said, "One time, when I was perhaps eight and the other girls much younger, my parents screamed and screamed at one another. My mother was very convinced that my father had been with another witch. He promised he hadn't, but it broke out into a duel in the parlour. Teacups got smashed; my father wound up with a gash down one cheek. I remember it vividly. It was utterly terrifying. A few days later, they were laughing together with my father at the piano and my mother singing along."

She raised her eyes to Voldemort, and he shrugged. "You think it'll blow over, then."

"It usually does, in my experience," Bellatrix said. "Either that or, as you said, Cerda will go live with the Rosiers. I think if you remind Abraxas where his real duty is, it'll all be fine. My Lord."

She threw those two words on the end because she did not wish to sound like she was bossing him about. He sighed and tucked her curls behind her ear.

"I would never throw you against a wall, you know," he promised her, and she couldn't help but smile at that.

"You'd throw almost anybody against a wall, I think."

"Not you," he insisted. He stroked at Bellatrix's jaw and said, "You're different. I'll make Abraxas hurt for days for this. He was a fool to treat his wife in such a way."

"Are you playing the sentimental husband now, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, covering his hand with hers. He looked a bit defensive and protested,

"I'm sentimental because I object to one throwing one's wife against a wall?"

"No." Bellatrix shook her head. "It's just interesting to see where your wickedness stops, Master."

He furrowed his brows. "It stops with you."

She wanted him then, rather suddenly, and she took his face in her hands as she pushed herself up onto her toes. She touched her lips to his, and he kissed her so delicately that she thought perhaps all the Darkness had left him.

"I've ordered a snake for you," she murmured against his mouth, for he'd been speaking for months about wanting to get one. He was a Parselmouth, a rare wizard who could speak to snakes, and he craved the chance to converse with one. He smiled down at Bellatrix and nodded.

"Thank you. Now you must tell me what you want for your birthday."

"Oh. My birthday. I'd rather forgotten," Bellatrix admitted. She took a half step back from Voldemort and flashed him a shy little smile. "Nineteen seems rather old, doesn't it?"

"Old!" He scoffed out a laugh and shook his head in disbelief. "Old at nineteen. Silly girl. Just wait until you're staring down forty-four."

She started to unbutton his white shirt, rather on instinct, and she mused, "I don't need anything for my birthday, My Lord. I have everything I could ever want."

She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, and he dragged his fingertips down her arm as he told her, "You know, I rather miss the days when I could just pop into your mind and find out whatever I wanted to know."

Bellatrix smirked. "You can try, My Lord."

He kissed her hard, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Bellatrix squealed quietly and stumbled backward a step, letting him push her down onto the bed. He forced her to wriggle out of her lightweight dress, and Bellatrix kicked her low boots off. They landed on the ground with a double thunk, and Voldemort tossed her dress aside as he leaned down. He touched his lips to the swell of her breast, playing with her nipple through the lace of her bra. She gasped and arched her back up to him. His other hand snuck down over the waistband of her knickers, and he murmured,

"What do you want for your birthday?"

Bellatrix giggled and shook her head. "Nothing."

"That's a lie," he declared. She felt him press into her mind, but she thrust him roughly out before he could see anything. He kissed her mouth again and grumbled with a low laugh, "Damn you. I'm just going to wind up Conjuring you some flowers and buying a very good bottle of elf-made wine."

"That sounds magnificent, My Lord." Bellatrix could hardly breathe as his fingers played a bit in her knickers. He huffed out a breath as he stood, unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down with his underwear. Bellatrix reached to graze her fingertips over her his stomach, and she said, just as she'd done earlier, "You're frustrated."

"I am," he agreed, wrenching Bellatrix's knickers down. She kicked them away and reached to shimmy awkwardly from her bra. She watched as Voldemort stroked as his cock, and she said quietly,

"Let me help you."

He nodded, pushing her further up onto the bed as he murmured, "Hands and knees. Just like the first time."

She obeyed at once, arranging herself as though she were presenting her womanhood as a gift. She glanced over her shoulder at Voldemort, and he seemed hungry. His eyes were almost feral as he squeezed and caressed the flesh of Bellatrix's backside. He shook his head and muttered again, "Old at nineteen. What a ridiculous idea."

Bellatrix stifled a grin. Usually they did not discuss their respective ages. It made him feel old, she knew, and it made them both feel vaguely dirty. But today, she could tell, he was aroused by how young her body was. She shrugged and said to him,

"I imagine I'll feel positively ancient when I turn twenty."

"I want to spank you," he said suddenly, "but only if you want it."

He didn't want to be Abraxas Malfoy, chucking his wife's body around for his own amusement or stress relief. He wanted release, but he needed her permission. Bellatrix waited for his eyes to meet hers, and she said very seriously,

"My Lord, I beg you to smack me. Please."

"Mmph." He rubbed at her backside for a moment, then abruptly spanked the cheek. Bellatrix yelped at the instant sting, the pain that transferred from his hand onto her skin. Bellatrix buried her face against the pillow for a moment and then raised her head up enough to say quietly,

"They're all fools to bother you with nonsense like this."

"Yes, they are." Voldemort spanked her again, harder this time, and Bellatrix gasped. She felt his cock push into her body, and she groaned against the feeling of him stretching and filling her. She fell forward, tipping her hips up and back as her cries were muffled by the pillow.

"They're all fools," Voldemort snarled. "All of them but you."

He started to pound her, and Bellatrix's body was rocked back and forth as though she were being tossed about by a storm at sea. She clutched at the pillow as her husband's body thrust roughly against hers, and she winced every time he spanked her. Finally she was being spun about until she was on her back, and Voldemort pushed himself straight back into her. He kissed her for all he was worth and explained,

"I need to see your face."

Bellatrix's heart swelled at that, and as he slowed his thrusts into something more gentle and smooth, she whispered, "Will you come into my head?"

He looked confused, but he muttered, "Legilimens."

Bellatrix put up no fight whatsoever. She pushed forth the image of her walking through Diagon Alley, thinking of how proud she was to be the wife and servant of Lord Voldemort. She was mentally daring anyone to challenge her. She'd fight for him; she'd kill a dozen people in the middle of Diagon Alley to defend his name. And then she'd gone looking for a snake for him, because she loved him and she wanted him to be happy.

"My beautifully vicious little thing," Voldemort murmured, pulling himself from Bellatrix's mind. He stilled his hips and used his right thumb to carefully stroke at Bellatrix's Dark Mark. He stared straight at her as he did, and Bellatrix bit her lip hard against the intense feeling of arousal. Voldemort cycled his hips very slowly, and Bellatrix lost control at once. She gasped as she came, whispering wordless pleas for something she couldn't identify. Her body clenched around his, and her hands flew to his forearms. She rubbed at his Mark, meeting his eyes as she came down from her high.

"I was born to belong to you, Master," she told him, and he nodded.

"I only wish I hadn't… mmph… I wish I hadn't been made to wait so very long for you, that's all." Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut, his face twisting as he came. Bellatrix watched him in awe. Sometimes she still couldn't accept that this immensely powerful wizard, the one who would reign over all of wizarding Britain, had deemed her worthy of his attentions. Abraxas Malfoy and his wife had battled for years, the product of an arranged marriage that had soured. But Bellatrix would always strive to make Lord Voldemort happy, and he, rather surprisingly, seemed determined to give her something demonstrable in return.

"I love you," she whispered, and when he silently nodded, she thought for certain she was the luckiest witch who had ever lived.

**Chapter Management**

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**Chapter 33** **: Puzzle Pieces**   **Chapter Text**

Author's Note: This is the final chapter of the story - fair warning!

* * *

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

7 September 1970

"You know why I'm here today."

Voldemort circled slowly around Abraxas Malfoy, who was kneeling submissively on the ground before him. Malfoy raised his pale eyes to Voldemort and nodded, looking terrified.

"You are here, My Lord, because I committed the crime of assault against my wife, and in doing so, I committed a transgression against you."

"That is why I am angry, Malfoy, but why am I here?" Voldemort's voice was dangerous as he fiddled absently with his wand. Abraxas Malfoy's throat bobbed, and his eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where Bellatrix, his son Lucius, and his wife Cerda stood as witnesses.

"You are here to punish me, My Lord," said Abraxas, "and I have more that earned it."

He lowered his face. In the corner, Lucius put a comforting hand on his mother's shoulder. Bellatrix stood a few steps away, her face utterly emotionless, as though she were watching paint dry. Voldemort took a cue from Bellatrix's own treasure trove of punishments, and as he aimed his wand at Abraxas, he incanted,

"Oculosanguis."

Abraxas shrieked like a woman as his eyes began to gush blood all over the fine rug in his parlour. He clutched at his eyes, and his wife Cerda made a sound of severe discomfort.

"It's all right, Mother," Lucius said soothingly, but Cerda said,

"Mercy, My Lord, I beg you."

Voldemort smirked over his shoulder. "You want me to absolve him?" he asked. He shrugged, ignoring the way Lucius was panting and crying out. Voldemort took a step toward Cerda and reminded her, "You spent three days in St Mungo's, Madam Malfoy, for the way he threw you against the wall. That caused all manner of problems for me. It is not for you to cry out for mercy on his behalf. Noble though such a thing is… his fate is mine."

"Of course, My Lord." Cerda lowered her face, and Lucius' hand tightened on her shoulder. Bellatrix met Voldemort's gaze, but still showed precisely no emotion. He turned back to Lucius and said in a lazy voice,

"Finite Incantatem." The blood stopped flowing, though it remained in scarlet streaks down Abraxas' milky white face. Voldemort could see fear in the man's eyes, but not remorse. Not yet. He pursed his lips and said to Abraxas, "You will never again behave in a manner that causes me so much inconvenience, Malfoy. Your life is mine; you signed it over to my possession. Do not act the fool again. Crucio."

Cerda and Lucius gasped with horror as Abraxas began to writhe and twitch. At first, he was silent, snared in red light as the sweet feeling of satisfaction crashed over Voldemort. But then Abraxas screamed, his voice shrill and hoarse.

"Please, My Lord! Please! I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Cerda! I'm sorry, Lucius. My Lord, my master… Please! Please."

Voldemort broke the Cruciatus, staring at the way Abraxas lay in a bloody-faced heap on the rug. He licked his dry bottom lip and said once more, "Never again, Abraxas." He turned to the man's wife and said, "Keep your household issues in the check, the both of you. I won't waste any more of my time cleaning up your silly messes. Come, Bella."

She followed him silently as he stalked out of the parlour and down the long corridor of Malfoy Manor's first storey. She said nothing at all as they descended the stairs into the foyer, and she was silent as they made their way out through the gardens. She took hold of his sleeve, and once they'd Disapparated and reappeared outside their own home in London, he shrugged at her.

"Well?"

"It was just and appropriate, My Lord," she nodded. "I don't think they'll cause you any more trouble."

* * *

_Number Six, St. Alban's Grove, London_

_21 September 1970_

Voldemort was awake before dawn, cleaning his teeth in silence beside Bellatrix as she yanked her hair tightly into a single braid down her back. She'd dressed in black leggings and boots with a sturdy tunic over it. As she and Voldemort made their way down the staircase, he asked her,

"Is this how you thought you'd spend the morning of your birthday?"

"No," she admitted, smirking, "but it's better than a boring day."

They Disapparated from the entryway of their house, coming to on a grassy valley in Scotland. Today was just the two of them; there was no need to turn this elimination into a massive battle. This was meant to be quick and efficient. Voldemort had learned of Gavin McKinnon's exact location just a few days earlier, thanks to Roy Anisimov, who was his spy among Dumbledore's so-called 'Order of the Phoenix.' Anisimov had informed the Dark Lord of McKinnon's address after attending a meeting there. Now Voldemort had brought Bellatrix to the little house on a craggy moor. They had one goal in mind.

He reached out into the dimly-lit cottage and frowned as he counted minds. They were just a dull buzz, lost to sleep, but they were there. Voldemort snapped his face to Bellatrix and informed her,

"McKinnon's not alone."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and her boots shifted as she gripped her wand more carefully. "How many, My Lord?"

"Three," he said tightly. "You take McKinnon. I'll get the others. No time for interrogation; I want them all dead as quickly as possible."

"Understood, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort stalked straight up to the house and murmured,

_"Alohomora…_ Abroportus _… Eliminoprotego…_ Evorto _Tutela."_

The door swung open, and Voldemort held his finger to his lips to silence Bellatrix.

"Who's there?" called a voice from inside the house. "I can hear you. Who is it?"

Voldemort stepped quickly into the house, holding his wand up where he stood in the entryway of the house. Suddenly, from beside him, Bellatrix leaped forward and barged into the dark bedroom.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_  she exclaimed, and there was a blinding flash of green light.

"Gavin!" cried a woman's voice from behind Voldemort. He whirled around and saw a couple standing in the threshold of the bedroom on the other side of the entryway. The witch, a middle-aged, thin creature in a nightgown, did not appear to have a wand on her person. Squib. The idea instantly came into Voldemort's head, and he realised at once that the woman was Gavin McKinnon's mother. The wizard, the father, made a rough slashing motion at Bellatrix and muttered a curse that Voldemort could not hear. He seemed to know that Bellatrix had killed his son, and his anger burst forth from his wand in the form of violet flame. Voldemort had no time to block the curse from Bellatrix, and she herself had just turned around when the purple flame cut across her torso. She yelped and collapsed in silence. Filled with sudden rage, Voldemort aimed his wand at the wizard and screamed,

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The witch, the Squib, cried in a distraught voice as her husband fell in a flash of green. Voldemort glanced down at Bellatrix, sensing that she was damaged but alive. He turned his attention to the helpless witch and crashed into her mind with Legilimency. In her head, he saw Dumbledore giving the McKinnons information on known Death Eaters. The Lestrange brothers, Avery, Cygnus Black III, Tudor Yaxley, Abraxas Malfoy… and the wife of Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix Black. Voldemort pulled out of the witch's head to see that she'd collapsed onto her knees.

"Please," she begged, looking from her dead husband to the head of her son, poking out from the doorway of his bedroom. "Please just kill me. You've taken all I have."

"My pleasure," Voldemort sneered. "Avada Kedavra."

She died like the others had, with jade green light washing over her form. Voldemort left the bodies where they lay. Let Dumbledore find them, he thought, after they'd had a few days to begin rotting away. He carefully cradled Bellatrix in his arms and Disapparated, landing inside their London house and carrying her briskly up the stairs.

She was breathing but motionless, and as he put her in their bed, his heart began to race. He tried to discern exactly what kind of spell had hit her. Purple flame… it had to have been a Capafora Curse. It was a rarely-used spell, requiring skill and less effective than more forbidden curses. It was designed to destroy the body from the inside out. Voldemort would need to act quickly to preserve Bellatrix whole like this, but he found himself silently thanking her for making a Horcrux.

He dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen, flinging open the Potion Stores and pulling out one bottle after another. One to slow damage, another to heal up wounded internal tissue. Draught of Peace to soothe any anxiety or pain Bellatrix might feel. Regrowth Potion and Dittany, just in case. He pulled a few other healing potions and put them all into a small tin basket, carrying it quickly up the stairs. In the bedroom, he aimed his wand at Bellatrix and said quietly,

_"Rennervate_." She roused slowly, but as he pulled up a chair beside the bed, he told her sternly, "Lie still, Bella; you've taken a Capafora Curse. Medicine time."

He began doling out potions to her, in spoons and in droppers, and she dutifully took them all. She was stifling moans of pain, he knew, though she held her ribcage as though she'd been hit by a sledgehammer. Voldemort Summoned a mug from downstairs and cast an Aguamenti spell to fill it with water. Bellatrix gratefully drank the water, too quickly so that she spluttered a bit. Voldemort set the mug down on the table beside the bed, and Bellatrix asked in a low croak,

"McKinnon… is he dead?"

"He is," Voldemort affirmed. "As are his parents. The mother was a Squib; I'm very sure of it. In her mind, I saw Dumbledore telling Gavin McKinnon about my Death Eaters. He had names, photographs. He identified you to McKinnon as my wife."

Bellatrix pursed her lips and picked at the blanket. "I'm sorry I got injured, My Lord."

He scoffed. "It all happened very quickly. The father was angry, and he struck you because you'd killed his son. I'm… I'm sorry I didn't help block the curse."

"We had a mission, My Lord," Bellatrix said, looking almost surprised. "That mission was not to keep me from getting cursed. Go in, eliminate the enemies, get out. That's what happened. I'll heal up."

He smiled a bit at her and said, "Well. I'm glad I had you with me and not one of the others. You didn't hesitate. You never do."

"How could I?" Bellatrix asked. She winced then, holding her ribcage and grunting quietly.

"Some birthday," Voldemort said, raising his eyebrows and sighing. "And here I had wine and sex planned for you later."

She laughed a little, but that seemed to make the pain in her chest much worse. She suppressed her giggle and scolded him, "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

"Sorry." He only ever said that word to her, and for some reason, it was almost a relief sometimes to do so. He took her hand and dragged his thumb over hers as he told her, "I am proud of you, you know. You took him out quickly. You're a good soldier."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. The curse was wearing her out, he knew. He reached for the bottle of Invigoration Draught and the small silver spoon. He poured some out and encouraged her to drink the syrup. It would help her feel herself, even if she was achy from the lingering effects of the curse.

"Happy birthday, Bella," Voldemort said rather bitterly, corking the bottle of Invigoration Draught.

"My Lord," she said firmly, and he met her eyes as he set the potion down. She reached for his hand again and squeezed it as she said, "This is the life I'm meant to have. It won't always be neat and tidy, will it? Battles are a mess, sometimes. War does not stop for birthdays. I am your wife, and I love you with all that I am, but I am first and foremost your most devoted soldier. That doesn't stop. Not ever."

He remembered how quickly she'd flung a Killing Curse at McKinnon, the anger in the father's eyes when he'd flung purple fire at her chest. He thought of her Horcrux, safe in the Doxy's Nest. He remembered the night he'd married her, the way he himself had taken a Blasting Curse. She was right, he knew. She was entirely right. This was their life. It would be messy sometimes. But she would continue to make him happy, and he felt compelled to try and do the same for her. She would help him be powerful. He would give her the purpose she craved. They would fit together like puzzle pieces, complementary and mutually necessary. This would be their life - the Dark Lord and his lady.

He brought her knuckles up to his lips and kissed them, staring at her pretty face as he said more warmly,

"Happy birthday, Bella."

She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. "Thank you, My Lord."

_**THE END - Please join me for Part II of the series, entitled The Little Boy and the Old Man** _


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